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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858651">in full bloom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikkitikki/pseuds/rikkitikki'>rikkitikki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Far Cry 5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Joseph Seed, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, Jealousy, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Reader, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, a/b/o infidelity ig, alpha rook, breeding related dirty talk, fluff kinda but it's psychologically fucked, joseph seed is a shit, nonconsensual tattoos, porn starts in ch4, rook is less of a shit, ur in the world's most conflicted threeway congrats</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 19:00:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikkitikki/pseuds/rikkitikki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>between you and me, we know it's true</p><p>nobody can hurt me quite like you do.</p><p>( m!omega!reader self insert garbo threeway psychological fuckfest, y'all )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deputy | Judge (Far Cry)/Reader, Joseph Seed/Reader, Reader/Joseph Seed/Deputy | Judge</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time you meet Joseph Seed, he <i>knows.</i> Unfortunately, you don't get that privilege. Omegas never do.</p><p>You arrive at John Seed's ranch on a beautiful Montana morning, before it all goes to shit - before you know any better. They seem like peaceful enough people, just… extremely well armed, and militant, and devoted. The fact that you don't see a single other omega as you tour John's property is just the slightest bit unsettling, and the long looks you get from the throngs of alphas and betas make you itch uncomfortably, but it's - there's probably a reason.</p><p>The cult is huge. Maybe they just keep the omegas working somewhere else.</p><p>Your thoughts are interrupted at the front door, when John Seed meets you in the foyer, all million dollar slick smile and warm, grasping handshake.</p><p>"Come in, the Father is waiting for you." He sniffs the air, just slightly, and you don't like the way his smile edges just a little wider, or the way he sweeps a hand in the small of your back to lead you. "You'll have to forgive the men, I'm sure - it's been months since they've seen an omega."</p><p>"Surely the Project has some omegas in it," you say, speeding up just a bit so his arm isn't in contact with your back.</p><p>"Of course. The Father welcomes <i>all</i> kinds, especially our <i>precious</i> omega brothers and sisters." You don't like how he says it. Don't like the emphasis. Don't like <i>him,</i> really, but you've spent your whole life getting along with alphas up their own ass. "The omega faithful are kept in the Henbane, under Faith. She's a beta, you know, there's no… risks."</p><p>Risks. You throw him a questioning look, but he's already slipping around you to the door. You offer each other curt smiles as he cracks the dining room door.</p><p>"The Father is inside. He wished to see you privately."</p><p>"Of course," you say, slipping out of John Seed's reach with no small amount of relief. You can feel his eyes on your back as you step into the dining room, offering the man at the table what you hope is a reassuring smile.</p><p>"Joseph Seed? Er - Father, sorry--"</p><p>"You can use my name if you like," Joseph says, long fingers crossed like prayer on the table in front of him, but his eyes - they're locked on you, tinted yellow behind those frames. "Maxwell Crane, isn't it?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Your family name preceeds you."</p><p>Your <i>family's</i> name proceeds you. Of course. He's awfully to the point, isn't he? You sit at the opposite end of the table, or make to, at least - he interrupts you with a soft clearing of his throat.</p><p>"Please, sit closer." He gestures at the seat just a few away from him. Maybe he sees the way you hesitate, glancing down at your bag, back up at him, because he smiles, warm and reassuring. "You don't have to be afraid."</p><p>"I'm not," you reply, terse, but you don't move.</p><p>"Not of me. Of them." He tilts his head, indicates the Peggies out front, and John, who's undoubtedly listening in somewhere. "I know omegas have reason to be cautious, but this place is safe. No one will touch you."</p><p>Okay. Okay, he's being nice, and your family really wants these talks to work out, and you <i>really</i> want to dig up some dirt for your budding investigative journalism career, so - you pick yourself up, moving to the indicated seat.</p><p>John had smelled sharp, his alpha scent a tang on the air just like his cologne. Joseph is an alpha, you can smell as much, but he's more muted - a soft, skinlike musk, dry and sweet. It's not the first time you've ever had to do business with an alpha, though, so you slip back into your routine, bringing your bag, spreading its contents across the table.</p><p>It's not a long talk. Your family has money, and they're insanely religious, so the Project at Eden's Gate has been of incredible interest to them. Joseph is a sparkling conversationalist, his voice a smooth, low hum of pleasant enough sounding words from your childhood. <i>God. Family. Togetherness.</i> There's men with guns outside, but if Joseph realizes the hypocrisy, he says nothing about it.</p><p>There's a shrewdness in the way he looks over your papers that you honestly hadn't expected of a religious figurehead. Had expected John to be the difficult one, the one who deals with business, but - well. Joseph is more than capable of doing it himself, apparently.</p><p>"My family would be overjoyed to receive yours," he says, finally, hours after negotiations started, and you can't help cracking a relieved smile. God knows what your folks would do to you if you fucked this one up.</p><p>But Joseph is <i>staring,</i> you realize, as if transfixed, his breath coming in long, slow pulls. Even behind his shades, you feel his eyes, and it's--</p><p>You fix a smile, trying not to feel scrutinized.</p><p>"Well, that's wonderful. I'm sure my parents will contact you as soon as possible," you say, gathering your things up. "Money transfers, maybe a walkthrough, that sort of thing."</p><p>"Of course."</p><p>A pregnant pause, as you shuffle your things together. The conversation so far had been easy, even enjoyable, but this - this cloying pressure of his stare, the way it feels like he's picking you apart with his eyes, it's - you don't like this.</p><p>"Are you leaving so soon?" Joseph says, and you look up at him, unguarded surprise on your face. His expression is as placid as ever as he stands, brushing past you on his way to the mantle. "There's no reason to run off. If you like, John will give you a tour of the Project's holdings."</p><p>It's tantalizing. You'd expected just a conversation, maybe a peek behind the Eden's Gate veil, but the idea of seeing more, seeing everything you could put in your expose, it's--</p><p>"If you're offering," you say, crooked smile intact, and Joseph looks back at you, mirroring the smile. "Although I'd rather not stay with your followers, if that's alright. Omegas are--"</p><p>"Rare and precious," Joseph says, his eyes on you for just a moment. He turns back to the fireplace, yellow light licking up his glasses every time the fire pops. "I understand your concern. You are welcome to stay here, at John's ranch."</p><p>You must pull a face, just slightly, because his voice picks up a moment later.</p><p>"<i>Enter into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with praise: be thankful unto him, and bless his name.</i>" You turn to him, the scripture vaguely familiar. "You are our guest here, Maxwell. John will do everything in his power to see you comfortable."</p><p>You're sure he will. It's the best offer you'll get though, you can tell, so you stand and cross the room to meet him.</p><p>"I can make time for a week," you tell him.</p><p>"A week, then." His eyes are like blades as they drag over your expression, your hand, every inch of you. He seems almost otherworldly, like he doesn't belong here, and you hesitate to take the hand he offers. "Enjoy your time with Eden's Gate, Maxwell. I will be in touch."</p><p>The knock on the door is too timely. John opens it a moment later (of course it's him), giving you a long look as he brushes his way past to the Father. There's murmuring between them, low enough that it's difficult to hear, and you quietly excuse yourself to the table again.</p><p>Trouble, you think. Joseph's face pulls just a little before he nods, and you're looking purposefully down at your bag when he walks over, his hand settling warm and firm on your shoulder.</p><p>"I have business to attend to. Please, make yourself comfortable. John will see to you."</p><p>John's expression twitches at that, you're pretty sure.</p><p>"Thank you, Joseph," you say, and he lingers for a moment, studying your face just a little bit longer before making his way out wordlessly. You gather your things and face John, feeling - well. It feels a little like the warmth left the room on Joseph's heels, and you're left with the youngest brother, his eyes almost neon as he studies you closely.</p><p>"<i>Joseph.</i> Quite familiar, aren't we?"</p><p>"He insisted."</p><p>"I'm sure he did. The Father has a way of trying to make <i>everyone</i> feel comfortable, whether or not it fits with decorum."</p><p>"I'd think that's his prerogative as the <i>Father.</i>" You stand, bag slung over your shoulder. "He said you would have a room for me."</p><p>"Did he? I wasn't aware." Yes he was. You can tell by the total lack of surprise, by the way he starts off towards the door. "What else did he promise you?"</p><p>"A tour."</p><p>"Really?" It's genuine surprise in his voice as he glances back at you, and you don't like it. You're not sure why. "A tour? Your family isn't satisfied with your word?"</p><p>You're quiet for just a beat too long, trying to make up some slick comeback. Yes, they would be, but no, they absolutely aren't - they've never wanted to take you at your word.</p><p>"Do I have a room?" you say instead, lesting just the vaguest edge creep into your voice, and John leads you out of the dining room and down the hall.</p><p>"Right this way," John says, seething under the surface. When his back is turned, it makes you smile.</p><p>---</p><p>As time stretches on, you realize you don't know <i>why</i> Joseph is being so accommodating with you. It bothers you, but not enough.</p><p>You try to leave, a few days in. Joseph calls that night while you're packing, and you wonder if he's stressed, if something is wrong - he sounds tense over the phone as he convinces you to stay. You haven't seen the Whitetail mountains yet, he reasons, haven't seen the Henbane. There's so much you're missing.</p><p>You, stupid you, decides to stay.</p><p>You meet his siblings, each one. John you know already, a resentful presence at the edges of your existence, cowed by an <i>omega</i> and seething over it - he shows you his holds, his planes, his men, just a glimpse of each, enough to whet your curiosity. Next is the Whitetail mountains, where you meet gruff, rough Jacob Seed, an alpha who walks you through one of his camps and shows you his Judges, slavering wolves he says they've managed to train. Endless throngs of soldiers going through the one-two-three of military drills.</p><p>When you reach the Henbane, Faith is there in a whisper of flowers and the sweet tinkle of her voice as she takes your hand, leads you away from John like he isn't even there.</p><p>"We keep the omegas here, in the Henbane," she tells you, like she already knows your worries, her hand small and soft in yours. There are no men with guns around, you notice, as if she doesn't need the firepower. "They're safe here."</p><p>"Why here?"</p><p>"They tend the bliss flowers." And after you walk a little ways, you see them, smell them - a field full of omegas tending and harvesting white flowers with the sweetest smell. She leads you into the field, and as soon as the scent gets in your head - as soon as your fingers graze those flowers, soft as velvet - everything seems fuzzy, far away.</p><p>Beautiful. Everything is beautiful here.</p><p>"You can see it, can't you?" Faith leads you like a puppy past all manner of omegas, all ages, all races. "Why they stay here."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"They're safe here," she repeats, turning to face you, your hands in hers. "They all have exactly what they want. Everything they need. The Father provides for them."</p><p>"Yes," you say again, your tongue thick in your mouth. "This is--"</p><p>"The bliss," Faith says, pulling you down into a crouch beside her. There's dirt soiling the knees of your jeans and gnats buzzing around your face, but all you can see is butterflies, all you smell is flowers. You shut your eyes and breathe in deep, the fog in your head thickening. "Do you understand now?"</p><p>You do, and you don't. Understand why they would want to come here, but not why they would stay. You choose to say nothing, opening your eyes again, but she's - gone, traipsing away, and you stumble to follow her.</p><p>"I know you're afraid for them," Faith murmurs, graceful and light where you feel sludgy and stuck. "You're afraid they're <i>slaves.</i> That I'm keeping them here against their will. But I'm here to tell you that it isn't true."</p><p>They seem happy, don't they? Hazy and distant, their eyes owlish and curious when they turn them on you, adoring when they look at Faith, but none of them are screaming, none of them are fighting. They're here because they want to be.</p><p>Probably. It's so hard to think.</p><p>"Don't you want to stay?" Faith says, sweetly, twirling idly in your hand. "The Father already likes you."</p><p>"Does he really?"</p><p>Your voice sounds distant, fuzzy. Whatever filter you might've had for this conversation is long gone, though, and Faith giggles at your question, turning back to you.</p><p>"More than you could ever know." She's leading you now, a green haze creeping in at the edges of your vision. "He wants you to stay. I want you to stay. Here, with us. A family."</p><p>"I have a family."</p><p>"But you hate them," Faith says, and the gentleness of her voice stuns you with how poisonous the words are. "Don't you? They're nothing like a family to you."</p><p>"That's not--"</p><p>"I know they don't care about you," she says, butterflies thick in the air, and something feels wrong. There's something sickly sweet in the air now, the smell of the bliss flowers near overpowering. When she turns to you again, smiling, there's a tilt to it you don't find reassuring. "My family didn't care about me either. They lied to me. <i>Abused</i> me. Threw me aside. Do you know what I did?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I found a new family," Faith says, her voice like bells as she slips out of your grip. You stagger after her, out of the bliss flowers, clinging to her presence like it's a life line. But the light turns wrong and she's gone, like a phantom, her voice in your ear. "Maybe it's time you did the same thing."</p><p>Something is pulling you down, down into the bliss. You can't breathe.</p><p>"Just let it happen," Faith whispers, and you do. "You're safe here."</p><p>You wake up at John's ranch, in your bed, with dirt on your knees and sweat sticking you to your clothes, the smell of flowers in your hair.</p><p>---</p><p>It's been a week, and you've compiled every little bit of dirt you can get on them. Wrote it down, memorized it, burned the evidence. The only barrier left is--</p><p>You're packing your things when John peeks his head in the door. The Father wants to talk to you again, one last time. It's the least you can do.</p><p>The mood is different when you meet Joseph this time. It's night, the room lit by soft ambiance. You sit at your appointed chair, almost close enough to touch the Father himself, and realize just how out of your depth you were that first night. The man in front of you - you hardly think he's a man at all now, now that you've seen the power he wields. His empire of God.</p><p>"You're quiet tonight," Joseph says halfway through dinner, and you start. "Is there something wrong, Maxwell?"</p><p>"Not at all. Just trying to find the words to describe all of this to my parents."</p><p>"It's breathtaking, isn't it?"</p><p><i>The Father likes you.</i> Faith's voice echoes in your ears, and you struggle to find your next words for a moment, jaw working. Joseph watches every second, gives you the space to find your words.</p><p>"Why did you let me see all of - everything?"</p><p>Joseph looks at you again, his stare piercing. After a long moment, he answers, voice as smooth as silk.</p><p>"Because I had hoped you would want to stay."</p><p>You laugh, a little bubble of noise that manages to be both nonchalant and nervous. It's a talent.</p><p>"I can't - <i>stay.</i>"</p><p>Joseph just watches you, fumbling for the right words the way you are, still as a statue.</p><p>"I couldn't," you say, glancing away. "Not much of a gardener."</p><p>"You think I would give you to Faith?"</p><p>Something is… not wrong, maybe, just - not right, either, you can feel it. Call it an omega's natural instinct when it comes to danger.</p><p>The door. You jump at the sound, whirling around to see a bearded man in cultist clothing, carrying drinks. One cup for you, one for Joseph. You take a heavy pull off yours before you speak, surprised at the sweetness.</p><p>"I don't belong here."</p><p>"There isn't a soul in this world that doesn't belong here, Maxwell."</p><p>Something is wrong. The haze comes slow at first, a tingle in your jaws and a taste in your mouth you can't place. You feel like--</p><p>"You drugged me," you say, matter-of-fact, remembering Faith's haze. Joseph's expression doesn't shift in the slightest.</p><p>"Do you feel it?" There's a hand on yours. You pull away, but Joseph is quick to wrap your hand in both of his, pulling it back. "The bliss has uses as a mild sedative, among others. It frees the heart from the shackles of the mind. Lets us speak freely. Truly."</p><p>"You didn't have to," you start, practically a whine, and Joseph shushes you, rubs his thumb over the angles of your knuckles in what you only assume is an attempt to soothe. "I have to go--"</p><p>"You don't have to go anywhere."</p><p>His hands are on your face, cupping your cheeks like you're made of precious jewels, his hands wonderfully cool in contrast to your too-hot skin. You shut your eyes - open them again when Joseph squeezes, just enough to get your attention.</p><p>"Look at me."</p><p>It's hard to when your head is this far underwater. He waits patiently as far as you can tell, rubbing his thumb in slow circles over your temple until you blink owlishly at him, your hands wrapping loosely around his wrists.</p><p>"You're here for a reason, Maxwell. It wasn't chance, wasn't by mistake, and it wasn't because of your parents. You were meant to come here."</p><p>"I need to go," you reply, your tongue thick in your mouth. The words sound soupy in your ears. "I have to leave."</p><p>Joseph stares at you a moment, one hand leaving your face to pull his yellow shades off. His eyes are a pretty green-blue, you realize, like - a little like the bliss, the haze that's settling over you now.</p><p>You squeeze his wrists when he pulls you forward, your forehead bumping into his.</p><p>"The moment I saw you," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "I knew you were meant to be here. I felt it in my bones. Didn't you feel it?"</p><p>"No," you say, pulling away from him with a sharpness that surprises you both. Joseph stares, same as he always does - just <i>stares,</i> traces of disappointment you're trying to ignore. "I have to <i>leave.</i>"</p><p>"It won't change anything," Joseph replies, replacing his sunglasses. "You can't change God's will."</p><p>You stand, unsteady on your feet, leaning bodily against the table for support - don't even hear the door, don't realize there's someone else in here with you until strong arms are wrapping around your midsection from behind, keeping you from collapsing entirely. You're prepared to swing until the smell of alpha hits your nose, pine needles and moss--</p><p>"Where do you want him?" Jacob asks, rearranging you in his grip until his arm is wrapped snugly around your stomach, holding you up.</p><p>"Take him to his room. Let him rest." A beat, as Joseph returns to his dinner. "Thank you, Jacob."</p><p>You need to leave, but the walk is so exhausting, so <i>difficult,</i> and when Jacob shoves you into your room, the bed looks so inviting. Things with the Seeds are more complicated than you'd thought, or would like, but really, it's only a matter of putting distance between yourself and them - and you'll do that as soon as you're capable. The minute you can.</p><p>But right now, you sleep. It's thick and dreamless.</p><p>---</p><p>You're not sure why you always pick the worst times to do things. Like setting your week-long visit to Hope county exactly one week before the whole place loses its fucking mind.</p><p>You're driving when they take the roads, late at night, all but fleeing from John's ranch. A Peggie with an AR shreds your tires as you try to drive past him, sends you crashing into a telephone pole. When he pulls you out of the wreckage and you try to sit up, you catch the butt of his rifle in your nose, pain flashing like fireworks behind your eyes.</p><p><i>This one goes to the Father,</i> the man says to his companion.</p><p><i>The omega?</i> You're covering your face with your hands now, blood seeping between your fingers, but you can practically hear his sneer. <i>What would he want with this pathetic thing?</i></p><p>
  <i>It is not your judgment to make. Take him to the Father.</i>
</p><p>That's how you end up dumped on the floor of Joseph's church after a few hours of travel, stealing glimpses out the car window at the absolute carnage the cult is wreaking. You see people gunned down in the streets like animals, even more rounded up just like you, shipped off to who the fuck <i>knows</i> where, for who the fuck knows <i>what</i> reasons.</p><p>The guns. The drills. The Judges. All the warning signs were there from the beginning that this would go horribly wrong - you just didn't expect to be here when it did.</p><p>The Peggies hurl you onto the church floor before slamming the doors shut at your back. You lift your head, eyes narrowing in the dim, and can just make him out.</p><p>"Joseph?"</p><p>You didn't recognize him at first. He's bare from the waist up, not in the suit you're used to seeing - but he's not really <i>bare,</i> is he? There's plenty covering his skin. Tattoos, scars, words that look like they were cut into him with a knife. Your eyes trace the shape of <i>lust</i> low on his belly when he turns to face you, holding his hands out to you. As if to welcome you.</p><p>"<i>And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.</i>" Joseph's voice is as ethereal as ever, his steps fluid as he makes his way towards you. "Come here, child."</p><p>"What the hell do you think you're doing, Joseph? Did you tell them to do this?" You point towards the door, towards the outside, towards all of Hope it feels like. Joseph stops. "They're <i>killing</i> people out there."</p><p>"The Reaping has begun, and we will take what we need."</p><p>You laugh, a bright bubble of hysterical noise, and try the church door, never taking your eyes off Joseph. The moment you open it, someone on the other side slams it shut again, their weight holding the door fast.</p><p>"I can't believe I spent time with you, had dinner with you. You're <i>insane.</i>" Joseph's arms drop to his sides, slow, like he was really hoping you'd just fall right into them. His expression doesn't shift, god <i>fuck</i> that's creepy. "I shouldn't - I should never have come here."</p><p>"But you did."</p><p>"I tried to leave," you spit. "Before your whackjob followers shot me off the road. I shouldn't even be here."</p><p>"But you are," Joseph says, about halfway to you now, the shifting lights of the church illuminating patches of colorful skin, "you came here. You stayed. You saw. I gave you the eyes into my family you so desperately wanted. And then I made you an offer, and you threw it away."</p><p>"You <i>drugged me</i> and started touching my face! How the hell else was I supposed to react?"</p><p>Doesn't have an answer for that one, does he? He's just out of arm's reach now, comes to a stop. Your voice has picked up a note of unsteadiness, you realize, something anxious and just the littlest bit nasal.</p><p>"You're afraid," Joseph says, soft surprise in his voice, and you say nothing. Just look at him, the long lean lines of him as he reaches out for one of your hands. "I never wanted you to be afraid of me, Maxwell."</p><p>"What do you <i>want</i> from me?" you spit, recoiling from his touch. "What the fuck do you <i>want?</i>"</p><p>He moves quicker than he has any right to. Your back hits the church door with a clatter, Joseph's hands locked on either side of your face, fingers knotted in your hair, and you grab at his wrists in a vicious mirror of the night before, squeezing bruises into his skin.</p><p>He doesn't seem to care. Doesn't even seem to notice, his eyes are burning so intensely into yours, roving over the details of your face, taking in your quickening pulse and sharp, short breaths.</p><p>You're terrified. He knows, bringing your forehead to bump lightly against his.</p><p>"You don't feel anything?" he says, voice small, struck through with thin veins of frustration. "In our time together, did you honestly feel <i>nothing?</i>"</p><p>You finally understand.</p><p>"You wanted <i>me,</i>" you say, pulling at his grip. It's like steel. "You really - you didn't just want my resources, you wanted--"</p><p>"I tried to make the transition easy for you," Joseph says, holding you fast. His scent is impossible to ignore this close, that soft musky skin-smell in your head. "I gave you the option of joining us by choice. Now I've made that choice for you."</p><p>Oh god. Oh god. He shuts his eyes, murmuring, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your temples. You tense under his touch, wound tight like a spring, your body tensing all over as he leans in to put his lips to your ear.</p><p>"When I saw you, I heard God's voice," he whispers, slow and rapturous. "And I knew He had finally delivered me my other half. My mate."</p><p>Fucking alphas.</p><p>He's not expecting the shove. He comes away with your hair still in his fingers as you turn, yanking at the door with enough strength to tear it open halfway. The Peggie outside is shocked enough that she stands there, transfixed as you bolt.</p><p>Or you would, if a hand didn't wind itself in your hair right about then, dragging you back in. You get a glimpse of the doors being slammed shut by wild-eyed guards before Joseph is hurling you further into the church. A pew breaks your fall, the solid wood edge digging into your back hard enough to tear a yelp out of you, but you're hardly concerned. Too busy clambering over the pews, clawing at the wood in blind panic.</p><p>"I never wanted to hurt you," Joseph says, too close, a dangerous edge in his voice. His weight is on you, dragging you down to the wood floor - when you buck against him, he drives your head down against the nearest pew, overwhelms you when you slacken and fall. You throw a lucky elbow and hear a grunt of pain, and that's your cue to bolt for the pulpit, putting it between you and him.</p><p>"I don't want to hurt you but you aren't leaving me a <i>choice,</i> Maxwell," Joseph says, straightening up. His sunglasses are gone (you must have knocked them off, go you) and the look in his eye is nothing short of chilling.</p><p>"Then fucking do it," you reply, bristling.</p><p>He does. Makes a beeline for you, ignores your sad attempts to keep the pulpit between the two of you like a fucking Scooby-Doo cartoon and pulls you over it by your hair, slamming your back against the wood hard enough to bruise. He's surprisingly solid when you shove at him, his hand vicelike around your wrist until--</p><p>Click. Even now, handcuffing you to the pulpit, he's careful. Doesn't close the cuffs too tight on you.</p><p><i>No.</i> It's all you can say, a panicked murmur of <i>no no no</i> as you pull at the cuff until it hurts. Joseph watches (doesn't he always), at least until you start cutting grooves into your wrist. He steps in then, hand closing around your arm and giving it an authoritative squeeze.</p><p>"Had God not told me you were mine, I might have passed you to Jacob instead," he muses. "He would appreciate this fighting spirit."</p><p>Would it be any better that way? You have to wonder, trembling under Joseph's presence, your eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>"You can't do this, Joseph." You're past the point of struggling now. The hand that settles firm on your nape pushes you down over the pulpit. "This isn't <i>right.</i>"</p><p>"It's the most <i>right</i> I've ever felt," he says, like a confession. You feel him pull at your shirt, twisting his hands in it mechanically before you hear the fabric tear. "I hoped you'd feel it as well, but I see now that we will have to work towards it. We--"</p><p>He stops abruptly, the rest of your torn shirt sloughing off you to the floor, and the silence is piercing. You don't have anywhere to cringe to when you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, mapping out the smooth, unmarked skin.</p><p>"You've never been bonded." There's wonder in his voice, soft and full of awe as he presses a kiss to the spot. "God has truly blessed me."</p><p>You freeze, heart thumping in your chest. He's going to -  he actually thinks you're going to be his--</p><p>You're babbling now, you realize, your pride faltering in the face of omega fear. You ask him not to do this, <i>beg</i> him not to; it starts out coherent and eventually dissolves into pleading, and then cursing him, cursing God, your head down. Joseph pulls away for a moment, and you think, miraculously, you've gotten through to him.</p><p>When he moves to the other side of the pulpit, your eyes fall on the shred of cloth that used to be your shirt. He presses it to your lips.</p><p>"This is God's house. If you won't show respect, then you won't talk." When you clench your jaw, furious eyes on him, he touches your jaw with his fingertips, tracing the curve. "And if you do not open your mouth, I will call John here to do it for me."</p><p>Your mouth drops open. He slips it between your teeth and ties it in a careful knot behind your ears, plucking at the fabric to make sure it isn't bunched uncomfortably anywhere. Your eyes burn.</p><p>Joseph thumbs tears off your face, shushing you, his lips brushing yours where they're wrapped around the gag. A mockery of intimacy.</p><p>"I know you're suffering. I know this is painful." He curls a hand around your nape, brings you forward to bump your foreheads together. "But it's all going to make sense. You'll feel what I feel."</p><p>He wants this to be real. You'd almost feel bad for his delusional ass if he wasn't slipping around behind you again, a hand curling around your throat to pull you back against him. His body is solid, warm, his scent picking up as he spreads kisses along your neck, lips and tongue and just the barest hint of teeth.</p><p>He licks over your bonding spot, and you squeeze your fists so tight that your nails dig little half-moons into your palms. <i>Stay away from alphas,</i> your parents had drilled into your head, sent you to an all-omega college, kept you cloistered away - and look what happens the first time you step outside of that bubble. Caught up in a cultist apocalypse, fucked by a prophet.</p><p>Fuck. Fuck.</p><p>You don't know how it's supposed to feel. Your dreamy mind always thought bonding would feel special, incredible, like nothing else in the world. To some extent, that's true, because his teeth dig into your shoulder hard enough to break skin and you <i>shudder,</i> a full body reaction paired with a low, dragging moan. It feels--</p><p>You feel warm. Tingly. Like banging morphine, but without the head fog. It takes a moment for you to realize Joseph's lips are at your temple now, his hands rubbing up and down your sides while you shake.</p><p>"Beautiful," he says, low and genuine, and a sob finally climbs out of you. He doesn't seem to mind all that much, pulling back, running a hand in soothing lines up and down your spine. "Shhh. You're safe here."</p><p>The ghost of Faith's words sticks in your head long after Joseph's taken to your neck again, trailing slow, hard bites there that make your toes curl. Marking you up. You'd never expected him to be the type to want to show off his conquests, leaving marks high up under your jaw, but even prophets can't resist the urge to peacock, apparently.</p><p>When you shut your eyes, it almost feels good. The attention, warm and sweet and smothering, his hands stroking over your skin, trying to rub the tension out of you. You can't get away from him. Not even a second of reprieve. And when his hands fall to your hips--</p><p>The sobs break you, and Joseph stops short. Pulls away. You glance back and see his blurry figure pacing, a hand dragging through his hair.</p><p>"I wanted this to be different," he tells you, eying you. "I thought you would accept it. I thought this was what you wanted."</p><p>Who the fuck told him that? God?</p><p>"Tonight isn't right," he says, finally, tugging your gag down. "This is all too new to you. Your body needs time to adjust."</p><p>You say nothing, do nothing. It's not like he's talking to you so much as at you. At the lack of answer, Joseph slips away, opens the church doors and murmurs something to the woman outside. You've calmed down by the time he comes back, producing a key to unlatch your cuff from the pulpit.</p><p>"I have much to do. Faith will watch over you until the time is right."</p><p>"Go to hell," you tell him, and his expression remains carefully blank.</p><p>"This is God's plan, Maxwell. You'll see." His hands are on your face again, tilting your head until you have to look at him. His eyes burn with a quiet fervor. "And when the time is right, when this poisoned world is gone, you will stand by my side in Eden."</p><p>He tries to kiss you, then. Tries, mostly, because you're slack and unresponsive, teeth clenched against him. He settles for a peck at the corner of your mouth instead, then leans to the side, sets you temple to temple with his hand cradling your head. Like you're a child.</p><p>"In time, Maxwell." He pulls back, takes you by the arm to lead you outside.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Faith Seed doesn't need to see the mark to know. No one else does either. They all just <i>know.</i></p><p>Joseph stands outside the church with you, his hand on your nape as the two of you wait. You're cuffed properly now (to keep you out of trouble, Joseph says, his fingers sifting through your hair), your wrists twisting at the metal until it chafes.</p><p>The Peggies look at Joseph with awe as they pass. You don't like the long looks they give you, the way they scent the air and immediately look away, the way Joseph's eyes follow each and every one of them until they're out of arm's reach. On alert. You could laugh, if you weren't reasonably sure you would start crying again instead.</p><p>Faith comes with an entourage, this time. A couple men with guns, and--</p><p>Slavering, white-eyed people in what you can only assume are bite masks. You know bliss when you see it, but you've never seen someone <i>soaked</i> in it before. You don't need to know anything to know that the brain behind those dull eyes is mush.</p><p>You pull away from the angels, inadvertently pushing closer to Joseph. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and squeezes, then pushes you towards them, towards Faith.</p><p>"Angels," she tells you, reaching for you. You step back, away from her and Joseph, but the Father's hand wraps around your arm and pulls you back, squeezing tight enough as a warning. "Are you afraid?"</p><p>Again, you say nothing. Faith studies you for a moment, closely - then she turns to Joseph, meeting him with clasped hands.</p><p>"He is not ready to accept his role, and I have much to do," Joseph tells her, his voice low. "Take him. Guard him with your life."</p><p>"Yes, Father," Faith demurres, then turns to you, offering her hand. "Let's go, Maxwell."</p><p>You don't reach out. But you do start to walk, away from Joseph, away from his church and his people's prying eyes. You really wish he hadn't destroyed your shirt. It isn't until you're nearly out of eyesight that you glance back.</p><p>Joseph is still there. Still watching you. You turn away, following Faith's featherlight steps. She waits until you're within sight of the river - her boat - to stop you, her hands light on your arm.</p><p>"You think he's hurting you, but he's not. He's trying to save you."</p><p>"I didn't need to be <i>saved.</i> I need to go home."</p><p>"Back to a family that's <i>ashamed</i> of you?" she asks, lightly, and it feels like a knife in your chest. Now her smile is gone, the faintest look of consternation on her face. "Keeps you locked away from the world, just because of what you are? Is that really what you want?"</p><p>"I don't want this," you say, defeated.</p><p>She softens, her arm looping into yours as she leads you towards the boat. You notice now that the Peggies won't look at you, even when you pass right in front of them - you notice that they give you berth, almost like deference.</p><p>"They know you belong to the Father," Faith says, as if reading your mind. "They know who you are. Who you're going to be."</p><p>You look at the angel next, her eyes distant and fogged, drool dripping from her mask. Her scent is negligible over the stink of piss and shit, but--</p><p>"Omega," you say, thinking back to the field of flowers. You sit next to Faith on the boat and give her a <i>look,</i> some desperate glance that hopefully communicates all your betrayal. "You said they were <i>safe.</i>"</p><p>"Does she look like she's in danger?" Faith says, sweetly, and you turn cold. You'd thought she was the reasonable one out of her siblings. Thought you could trust her, even just the littlest bit. It's obvious now how stupid the notion is. "When someone doesn't walk the Path - can't, or just won't - we find ways for them to be useful."</p><p>"You turn them into animals. This place is fucking insane."</p><p>Faith just smiles, leans against your shoulder. It's early in the morning and you're trying not to tremble from the cool air or the occasional spray of icy river water.</p><p>"Are you going to make him wait?" You look at her again, see the way she tilts her head when she asks. "He's waited for so long."</p><p>"The mark doesn't mean anything if I don't want this," you say, but that's not entirely true and you know it - bonding has a well-documented effect on body chemistry, but you're trying not to think about that. "And I don't. I never will."</p><p>Faith says nothing for the rest of your boat trip, or the walk to her bunker, her bare feet padding through the grass. It's only when she leads you towards a field of bliss flowers that you stop short, stepping back. One of the Peggies nudges you between the shoulder blades with the muzzle of his rifle, a quiet warning.</p><p>"What's wrong?"</p><p>"Can't we go another way?" It sounds like whining, even to your own ears. Faith giggles, like you've just told a joke.</p><p>"Of course not." She takes you by the arm and pads into the sea of flowers, the heady sweetness filling your head immediately. The bliss soaks into you, makes you calm. "Feel better now?"</p><p>You look around, but the Peggies, the angels, they're gone. All you see is flowers, and sky, and Faith. She leads you towards the fuzzy outline of a missile silo wreathed in plants, leaking a soft green mist. More bliss.</p><p>As soon as you're inside, she steps behind you, unlocking your cuffs. Your arms fall loosely to your sides, slack, like they're a thousand pounds - she offers her hand again, and this time, you manage to take it.</p><p>"You're going to like it here," Faith says, smiling. You smile back, crooked, and follow her like a puppy further into the bunker. "Let me show you your room."</p><p>---</p><p>You're not sure how long you stay in the bliss. Time is meaningless here. Everything is meaningless here. Everything but the bliss.</p><p>You're reading when Faith comes to you again, laying in grass that probably isn't real, under a tree that almost certainly doesn't exist. There's nothing here to read except the Father's word, and although it had taken at least a week, you think, Faith and mind-numbing boredom had cajoled you into reading it.</p><p>Better to know your enemy, right?</p><p>You don't see her at first, though. You see a man in a U.S. marshal uniform, and for one brilliant second, you think he's here to save you. They're raiding the place. Thank god.</p><p>But then you see the flitter of butterflies on his cheek, and Faith stepping in to take his hand, leading him the rest of the way to you.</p><p>"This is Cameron Burke," she tells you, touching his arm. "Do you know what he did, Maxwell? He tried to arrest the Father. Tried to lock him away from his family, from the people who need him."</p><p>"But I know better now," Burke says, and offers his hand. "Walk the path, brother."</p><p>Even hazy in the bliss, you can tell that he's in deep. Not too deep, but he's close. You reach out for his hand, your palm closing over his as you push it away.</p><p>Neither he nor Faith seem all that displeased at your reaction. She steps around to your side, takes your hand and places it on Burke's chest.</p><p>"Don't you see the love in his heart? Can't you hear it in his voice?"</p><p>"Can't you hear it in my voice?" Burke murmurs, hazy.</p><p>"He came here in pain, Maxwell. Beaten down by a cruel world full of cruel people, trying to feel <i>powerful.</i>" Faith's voice is an insidiously light lilt as she circles the two of you, eyes never leaving your face. "And now he's finally happy."</p><p>"Now I'm finally happy." Burke covers your hand with his own, gives it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't you want to be happy, Max?"</p><p>You say nothing, not sure what they want from you. Burke lets your hand drop from his chest, drifts off when Faith gives him a little push.</p><p>"I don't know why you're fighting this so hard." Faith is circling <i>you</i> now, hand grazing over your chest, your shoulder. The bliss seems thicker here, now, a cloying sweetness that burns in your lungs and numbs your thoughts. "Don't you see what the Father has done for you? What he's trying to build with you?"</p><p>"I don't--" You stop, not sure what you were going to say. It's so hard tO think here.</p><p>"You don't <i>think,</i>" she says, scathing in her own sweet way. "Not about anyone else. Just yourself. What <i>you</i> want. Do you think it's easy for him to be separated from his mate like this? He <i>aches,</i> Maxwell."</p><p>"Good," you spit, and she studies you for a long moment.</p><p>The slap catches you completely by surprise, a sharp sting in your cheek that snaps your head to the side.</p><p>"You're so selfish."</p><p>You say nothing, sitting back down. Touching the cover of Joseph's Word, tracing the shapes on the cover with your fingers. After a moment, Faith slinks around your back, carding her fingers through your hair. Petting you.</p><p>"But if the Father believes in you, so will I." Her fingers graze the spot on your shoulder where Joseph's bite has bruised up, started to scar. "We have to have <i>faith,</i> Maxwell. You'll learn that soon enough."</p><p>She's gone in a whisper of lace, padding over to touch Burke's arm. He follows her listlessly, as if in a dream.</p><p>You lay back, watching the bliss fog make new shapes in the air.</p><p>---</p><p>Joseph is busy, Faith tells you. Busy carrying out God's plan. He'll come for you when he's ready.</p><p>A week in, you think, Faith approaches you with something in her hands. A radio.</p><p>"I told the Father about how you read his Word," she tells you, smiling, "that you're trying. He wanted you to have this."</p><p>You take it, squirrel it away to work with in the quiet corners of Faith's Gate. It's rapidly apparent that you're not getting this without strings - the radio picks up all public channels, Peggie music, but you can't contact anyone. Radioing for help gets you no response, and god, do you try.</p><p>There's something else, you quickly realize. It connects to a private channel where the Seeds talk. Never anything important, anything you could use, but you spend an inordinate amount of time laying on your side, staring into the radio and imagining faces behind the voices. Jacob, his voice gruff, talking about prisoners, about Trials, about somebody named Eli who seems to be doing a marvelous job of pissing him off. John, going over his newest acquisitions (things he's stolen, you think), about new confessions, how he sees their sin pour out of them every night, how he invites Joseph to watch. Faith is an infrequent presence, preferring to talk in person, but you hear her lilt sometimes as she goes over bliss production routines.</p><p>But you weren't given this to hear <i>them.</i></p><p>Joseph doesn't preach to his family. Doesn't need to. His answers are all courteously short, direct; as far as you can tell, he and his shitty family are tearing this entire county apart, and no one seems to be able to stop them.</p><p>And you? You're fine, mostly. Faith gives you everything you need, and even some of the things you want. You find yourself chasing her steps most days, or Burke's, tagging along out of a need to move, to <i>do something.</i> You're restless these days, it seems like. Craving something you can't place.</p><p>There is no night and day down here. Everything is always the same shade of green. You think it's night when Joseph's voice crackles over the radio, though, because you're tired, and most of the omegas have come in from the fields to sleep.</p><p>"Maxwell," Joseph says, and you snap to consciousness, sitting upright against the wall fast enough to fumble the radio. Faith won't let you go outside, so you've taken to draping yourself over whatever random spots look comfortable. "Are you listening?"</p><p>You say nothing. It's almost like he can see you sitting here, stubborn, a gentle sigh on the other side of the radio.</p><p>"It won't be long now. The Collapse has begun, and we must prepare for the end. And when that day comes, we'll finally be together."</p><p>"Great."</p><p>He's quiet. Maybe that's not the answer he wanted, your dull monotone.</p><p>"Faith tells me you've been pleasant company." His tone turns curious. "Have you been lonely?"</p><p>"No," you lie, but it feels weak even to your ears. "It's - I'm fine here."</p><p>"<i>For all that is secret will eventually be brought into the open, and everything that is concealed will be brought to light and made known to all.</i> Do not lie to me."</p><p>You switch off the radio, rolling onto your other side. Sleep is a blessing.</p><p>Hours later - maybe days, actually, maybe weeks - Faith is at your side like a phantom, tugging you up by your wrist.</p><p>"Wake up, sleepy. You have somewhere important to be."</p><p>"Faith?"</p><p>You scrub at your eyes, unsteady on your feet like a newborn deer. Faith pulls you along by the hand, leads you past throngs of omegas, most of them staring as you go. You can tell by now which ones are here because they want to be and which ones aren't - the willing look upon Faith like a goddess, give you a certain wary respect. The captives look at you both with fear and hate, both of you, because they know you. They can smell Joseph on you still.</p><p>You come to a door, and Faith stops, turning towards you.</p><p>"This is your test," she tells you, and blows a handful of something in your face. "Don't disappoint him."</p><p>It must be concentrated bliss, from how fast you sink. Your vision fogs, goes hazy at the edges, numbness seeping into your fingers and tongue as Faith turns you with a gentle hand, directs you through the open door.</p><p>It looks like they launched missiles from here, maybe, back before everything was covered in flowers. Looks like a control room, an old table filling the center of the room, chairs long gone. You turn back to the door, but Faith is gone.</p><p>You smell Joseph before you see him, some knot of tension in your gut finally relaxing as his hands fall on your shoulders, warm and firm. In the bliss like this, you shut your eyes, exhaling, and lean back into him.</p><p>Joseph tucks his face into the crook of your neck, arms sliding around your midsection as he breathes your scent. He seems to like doing that, you've noticed.</p><p>"I thought you were busy," you say, words thick and stubborn in your mouth. "I thought you wouldn't--"</p><p>Quiet. His words are a soft murmur in your ear.</p><p>"Thought I wouldn't come?"</p><p>"You said you were busy," you say again, lamely.</p><p>"I made the time. There is nothing more precious in this world than the bond between an alpha and their omega." He slides his hands down to your hips, works them up under your shirt, palming your skin. "I've missed you."</p><p>You laugh, just a little. It just sounds so ridiculous.</p><p>"You don't believe me," Joseph says, his tone just the slightest bit deflating.</p><p>"No."</p><p>He turns you in his grip, slack and drugged, open and curious. This close, now that you're not panicking, you realize just how nice his body is, your hands finding his bare chest, palming greedily. He sucks in a breath like he doesn't know how to handle the contact, the fact that you're actually touching him.</p><p>The drugs really help. Like, immensely.</p><p>Your hand finds <i>lust</i> scrawled out near his belt, fingers tracing it the letters. You think maybe he shudders, just the tiniest bit, but it could be your imagination. Jacob takes your hand soon enough, moving it up until he can press a warm kiss to your palm.</p><p>You feel good. At peace, even. Joseph sets his other hand on your cheek, cradling your head, and he's so - tender. So gentle that you can almost pretend he isn't a mass murdering, torturing, brainwashing psychopath.</p><p>When he leans down to say something, you meet him halfway, because the fucked up logic makes sense in your head - you don't want him to talk and ruin this, so you kiss him, get his mouth busy with yours instead. He makes a soft noise into it, surprised.</p><p>You're surprised at the ferocity behind it when Joseph's brain finally manages to catch up, his weight crowding you back until you hit the edge of the table. Every time you try to break for breath, he smothers the attempt, palms your cheek and forcibly turns your head back every time, holds you by the jaw and tilts your head back for a better angle.</p><p>Kissing him is a little like drowning. You feel warmer, breath puffing against his cheek, hands finding an unsteady grip on his hips before he turns his head and catches your mouth again, slow and hot and thorough. Your head is swimming. You can't stop making these needy little noises into his mouth either, and each one has his grip on you tightening by degrees, growling softly against your neck.</p><p>You slip a knee between his legs and hear him gasp. He's already half hard, pulling away sharply from the contact - how long has it been for him, exactly?</p><p>"Not here." Joseph pushes you back, but not out of arm's reach, hands flexing on your hips like he can't make up his mind on what he wants to do with them. "Not like this."</p><p>"Not like this?" You palm his abs, and god, the tension in his jaw must be incredible with the way he grits his teeth. "Isn't this what you wanted?"</p><p>"Is that why you're doing this?"</p><p>"Well, yeah," you drawl, looking up at him. "If it keeps me alive."</p><p>Just like that, the spell is broken. Joseph steps back, out of your reach. <i>Wait,</i> you almost tell him, but catch yourself in time, stepping back yourself, looking towards the door.</p><p>"Soon," Joseph promises. "The time isn't right. But soon, we will walk through the gates of Eden side by side, and we will have all the time in the world to spend together."</p><p>"Can I go?"</p><p>He seems put off by that answer. You shouldn't feel bad the way you do.</p><p>"Yes, Maxwell."</p><p>You retreat, slipping out of the room and back into the hallway. Faith is there, waiting, taking your hand and staring to lead you off to fuck knows where. You let her, your fingers lacing with hers.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It all goes to shit so fast. Honestly kind of miraculous, how quickly that happens in Hope county.</p>
<p>The alarms are screaming when you wake, the distant sound of gunfire ringing in the halls. The door is unlocked - Faith's never kept you locked up - and you slip out into madness, Peggies blowing past you with guns at the ready.</p>
<p>A man rounds the corner, rifle in hand, and aims down the hallway. You have the sense to dive back into your room before the bullets rip through the corridor, and the Peggies drop like bloody ragdolls. You reach out for one of their guns, yelping when a bullet ricochets off the floor right next to your fingers.</p>
<p>"I'm unarmed! And not a <i>fucking</i> Peggie," you add, and wait. There's footsteps, a shadow in the doorway, and then--</p>
<p>"Come on," the man says, shoving one of the dead men's rifles into your hand. "We have to get the fuck out of here."</p>
<p><i>Out of here.</i> Outside. It's been so long that you're a little taken aback by the idea, following the man as he slips back into the gore-soaked hallway.</p>
<p>"What's happening? Is this a rescue?"</p>
<p>"More or less." A Peggie rounds the corner, and <i>pop,</i> the stranger puts her down with a single shot to the head. Brutally efficient. "Call me Rook. Everybody else does."</p>
<p>"You're the Deputy," you say, and suddenly it all makes sense. Faith spoke of him like a scourge, some maniac running around the countryside gunning down her people and blowing shit up. It's like meeting Rambo. "You're actually him?"</p>
<p>Faith. You grab his arm, shoving the two of you down a narrow service tunnel, and manage to miss a whole troupe of patrolling Peggies.</p>
<p>"Where is Faith?"</p>
<p>"Dead," Rook says, pulling you out of the tunnel once the danger has passed. "Like the rest of her fucked up family is gonna be."</p>
<p>You look at him in wonder. He's an alpha, you can smell that much, short dark hair tousled in a slightly overgrown military cut, handsome in a classic action movie hero kind of way. When you touch his arm, leading him down another path, he feels <i>solid</i> in a way that quietly thrills you.</p>
<p>He's everything Joseph isn't. Maybe that's why you like him so much from the get-go.</p>
<p>Sabotaging Faith's bunker is more an act of petty vengeance on your part than anything. You've never even held a gun before, much less this monstrous AK, but you manage to hit a few Peggies who refuse to shoot you back while Rook sabotages the water treatment. Everything is flames, and explosions, and screaming, and--</p>
<p>Rook drags you out into the sunlight just as the bunker implodes behind you, belching flames. The sunlight is vicious after weeks in the dark, and you're half blind when the two of you make a run for a truck. There's another man inside, haggard; you crawl in the back and lay flat against the bed, not missing the way the older, mustached man sneaks a long look through the back window while Rook guns the engine.</p>
<p>It's not a terribly long ride. You lay there and soak in every single moment of it, breathing in clean air, your head the clearest it's been in weeks, and you don't move until Rook pulls to a stop in front of what looks like a prison.</p>
<p>The two of them talk, privately. You try not to listen in too closely, waiting until the older man - sheriff, you heard Rook say, that's the sheriff - turns to you, trepidation written all over his face.</p>
<p>"And who are you?"</p>
<p>You're wearing cultist clothes, you realize, holding your hands up in surrender.</p>
<p>"POW."</p>
<p>"Aren't we all these days."</p>
<p>"He had my back in the bunker," Rook says, stepping out on your other side. He offers you a hand, helps you clamber out. "He's solid, sheriff."</p>
<p>"If you say so." The sheriff inclines his head towards the prison. "Come on in. We'll get you a meal and some clothes that won't get you shot around here."</p>
<p>"You have no idea how incredible that sounds," you say.</p>
<p>It's insane, being around normal people again. You're finally not the only omega around, there's a mixed bunch in the prison - after you have a shower and a change of clothes, they don't so much as look at you. You're anonymous and loving it.</p>
<p>Rook pulls you away later that night, into a back room. Says he needs to talk to you. You don't think anything about following him in, at least until you see a woman and the sheriff standing there, staring hard.</p>
<p>"What is this about?"</p>
<p>"Tell us why you smell like Joseph Seed," the sheriff says, and you freeze. "Don't lie to me, son. I've about had my fill of bullshit for a lifetime."</p>
<p>Your hand flies to your shoulder. They all know right away.</p>
<p>"You brought Joseph's Seed's goddamn <i>omega</i> here?" the woman says, looking sharply at the two men. "Are you fucking crazy?"</p>
<p>"I couldn't leave him down there, Tracey."</p>
<p>"You've just painted a <i>gigantic</i> target on our backs here, Deputy." Tracey points at you. "How do we even know he's safe? That he won't go off and kill somebody, like--"</p>
<p>They all fall quiet. You break it.</p>
<p>"Do you really think he gave me a choice? <i>Really?</i> I was here on business." It's not really a lie. Probably. "I spent a <i>week</i> investigating the cult for an expose. Joseph just thinks God told him we're going to live happily ever after."</p>
<p>"Bonding goes deeper than that. We <i>know</i> it does."</p>
<p>"Not necessarily," the sheriff says, eying you carefully. Like you might be a loaded weapon, just waiting to go off. "What's your name?"</p>
<p>"Max Crane."</p>
<p>"Max. I'm guessing Joseph Seed didn't put that mark on you with your permission."</p>
<p>"Not hardly." You cross your arms, trying not to itch under the collective stare. "He locked me in Faith's bunker for… hell, I don't know how long. The bliss, it--"</p>
<p>"Gets in your head," Rook finishes. "We know."</p>
<p>"I don't like this," Tracey says. "He's a liability."</p>
<p>"I'll only be here until I can find a way back home. A few days, tops." You turn to Tracey, to the sheriff. "If this doesn't leave this room, he'll never know I'm here."</p>
<p>The radio is hanging from your hip, still. You decide to keep mum about your direct line to Joseph Seed's ears. Tracey throws her hands up.</p>
<p>"I've got better shit to do." She looks to the sheriff on her way out. "Keep him out of trouble, Earl."</p>
<p>"Yes ma'am," he replies, tipping his hat. When it's just the three of you, the sheriff turns to you. "We're taking our chances by having you here, kid. Don't make us regret it."</p>
<p>Rook nudges in, sets a hand on your shoulder. It's nothing like how Joseph does it, isn't as anxiety-inducing - just warm, friendly.</p>
<p>"Come on, looks like you could use a drink." You give him a look that must say <i>god please yes,</i> because he laughs, already heading towards the door. "And, uh, sheriff? If you give him anything to do around here, don't give him a gun. Can't shoot for shit."</p>
<p>You give Rook a shove, playful enough, and he smiles at you. It's a nice feeling.</p>
<p>"You play cards?" he asks, brow raised. "Got a couple friends down in the mess hall playing Texas hold 'em. Sharky's even putting up his Cheeseburger bobblehead."</p>
<p>"Cheeseburger bobblehead?" you ask, brows rising. "What the hell is that?"</p>
<p>An adorable bear collectible, as it turns out. You kill 'em all with a royal flush and take it for yourself.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>You keep the radio by your bedside, off in an isolated little corner of the jail. Most of the time, you keep it turned off, but tonight - for some reason tonight, laid up alone, you switch it on, and tune into the Seeds' channel.</p>
<p>"Joseph?"</p>
<p>You shouldn't. Really, really shouldn't. Really, absolutely, positively <i>should not</i> do this. But when the radio crackles to life with his voice, something unknots in your chest.</p>
<p>"Where are you?"</p>
<p>Okay, that's direct. You should've expected as much, you suppose, running your hand through your hair.</p>
<p>"I'm not telling you that."</p>
<p>"Why <i>not?</i>"</p>
<p>He's scolding you, you realize that, but that doesn't mean it doesn't work. A hot rush of something shameful hits you, but that's - just the instincts, you're better than them. Than that. You try to make yourself sound brave.</p>
<p>"Because we're never going to be a happy little fucking family, Joseph," you hiss, trying to keep your voice down. "Because the shit you're doing is <i>insane and detestable,</i> have you ever thought about that? Can't you dig up one of <i>your</i> omegas and--"</p>
<p>"That's not how it works, Maxwell." He sounds clear. Eerie calm. "The other omegas were not <i>chosen.</i>"</p>
<p>"I didn't ask to be <i>chosen.</i>"</p>
<p>"Neither did I," he says, and you're about a heartbeat away from just shutting off the radio entirely. "We do not ask God for hardship. We can only overcome it. You and I have a bond, Maxwell."</p>
<p>"And once I get the hell away from you, it'll run its course within six months to a year, I've heard," you say, thinking you sound smart. "It's over, Joseph. It never started."</p>
<p>Joseph is quiet for so long that you think the radio might have died. You're flipping it over to fuss with the batteries when he speaks up again, voice slow, measured.</p>
<p>"God will not let you leave." He believes it, every syllable of it. You can hear the absolute certainty in his voice, and it chills you. "And when I find you, I will not make the same mistake again."</p>
<p>"You won't get the chance," you tell him, and shut off the radio.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After freeing the Henbane, Rook doesn't stay in the region for long. He's got things to do, Seeds to kill. He does, however, come to you before leaving, as you're having an early morning coffee in the mess hall.</p>
<p>"I think I can get you out of Hope," he tells you, and you must visibly perk up, because his tone picks up too. "We're planning to attack John Seed's ranch next week. He'll have planes, helicopters - anything you need to get you out of the county. Quick. Joseph will never know."</p>
<p>"How do we do it?" you say, and Rook grins. It makes something twist tight in your chest.</p>
<p>You don't like to think about that. Don't have the time these days, and you sure as hell don't need something (someone) else on your mind until the Joseph situation is settled. Nevermind how much you like sitting together over undercooked scrambled eggs and perfect bacon, discussing how he's going to kill John Seed.</p>
<p>"I've been inside the ranch."</p>
<p>"<i>How?</i>" Rook asks, perplexed. You suppose it's a weird thought for anyone non-cult to be strolling around John's home. "Wait, you can tell me later. Do you remember the layout? Entrances, exits? Any weapons?"</p>
<p>"I didn't exactly go snooping with John breathing down my neck, but you have plenty of entrances. Should be able to attack from both sides of the house and hit them in a pincer." You've got a napkin now, pulling a pen to draw a rough map of John's ranch. Fortunately you had been paying attention to John's home back then, studying everything - it's not too difficult to recall the most important parts of the home. "The hangar is over here, we'll have plenty to pick from. John's disgustingly proud of his collection. There'll be plenty of resistance, high caliber weapons. Dress for the weather."</p>
<p>"Have you done this before?" He sounds a little in awe, but it's a sharp contrast from Joseph's - where he had been speaking more to God than to you, sometimes, Rook just seems impressed, and to know someone so genuinely <i>heroic</i> could find you impressive is--</p>
<p>You don't know. You feel some way about it you can't put your finger on, scratching at your neck idly.</p>
<p>"Wartime tactician isn't exactly in my skillset, no."</p>
<p>"Could've fooled me." He takes the napkin, nearly finished with his breakfast, and you're honestly a little disappointed that it's over. He'll disappear soon, like he always does; you worry every single time he goes that it's going to be the last time you talk to him. He's the closest thing to a friend you've had in… god, so long. "This is incredible, Max. We'll need to leave tonight to make it to the valley in decent time. Are you ready?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely," you say, lying. With Faith dead, the Henbane is the safest place you could be right now. The idea of wading back into John's reach now that you've heard him cackle over the radio about cutting chunks out of people is more than a little terrifying.</p>
<p>But Rook isn't like anyone you've ever met. He's a force of nature. And when you're around him, it feels like the two of you could do anything.</p>
<p>"Alright, pack a back. And - great job, Max."</p>
<p>He gives your shoulder a squeeze as he passes, taking his tray back to the kitchen. You wait until you're out of the mess hall and back in your own room to let your mind linger on how his hands feel.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>John's ramped up security on the roads and in the air, so at the border to the valley, you and Rook are forced to walk through the fields and farmlands to get to your destination. It's exhausting, honestly; either running charity errands for your parents or pushing pencils at your family's law firm, you've never exactly lead the most athletic lifestyle.</p>
<p>It's late when Rook notices you start to struggle. He slows down, falling into step with you easily. It's a little embarrassing, how much better at this he is than you.</p>
<p>"Let's stop for the night."</p>
<p>"I can make it," you say, almost petulant. Less frustration at him and more at yourself. "If we keep moving, we should get to Fall's End by morning."</p>
<p>"Nah."</p>
<p>Oh. Well, okay then. You must give Rook a look, because he starts scanning the horizon for shelter. You're at the edges of some farmer's land, within sight of an old barn. Looks like nobody's used it in years.</p>
<p>"Look, we're not in any rush. Let's just take our time and do this right, which means getting some rest. It's not like the Peggies are going to look in every single shitty barn in the countryside."</p>
<p>You can't argue with that logic, or how tired you are. So you nod, following him to the barn. The lingering smell of long-gone animals is stuck in every porous surface of the barn, but it's dark, and cool, and the hay isn't absolutely everywhere, so you probably don't have to worry about being covered in spiders while you sleep. Probably.</p>
<p>You find a spot across from Rook, stretching.</p>
<p>"Been doing this long? The whole - <i>destroying an insane cult</i> shtick."</p>
<p>"First time, would you believe it?" Rook says, setting his roughly five million guns aside. Always in reach, you notice.</p>
<p>You try to relax, mostly trying not to itch in the fine layer of hay coating everything, and definitely don't think about all the spiders. You huff a laugh instead.</p>
<p>"Impressive."</p>
<p>"I try." He smiles crookedly, and your heart flutters. Stop that. "You're not so bad yourself, rookie."</p>
<p>"I thought <i>you</i> were the rookie here."</p>
<p>"Just take the compliment."</p>
<p>He huffs a laugh, shrugging out of his jacket. He's got a plain white tank underneath for the Montana heat, and it bunches up at his waist near his stomach. He's more solid than trim, unsurprisingly muscular, a prime example of an alpha.</p>
<p>You swallow. He swallows too, and you realize he knows what you're doing, how you're looking at him.</p>
<p>You drag your eyes to the roof instead, ignoring the steady thrum of your heart. </p>
<p>Rook clears his throat, sitting up. "I, uh - I can go over there or something--"</p>
<p>"No," you say, opening your eyes. You hadn't realized you'd closed them, focused on your breathing instead. "You don't have to, it's - I've just been subjected to more than my share of alphas lately, but not..."</p>
<p>A dragging pause. He sounds uncertain when he speaks.</p>
<p>"Joseph didn't...?"</p>
<p>"No," you say, quickly. "Just the bond. Wanted to wait until Faith brainwashed me into rolling over for him."</p>
<p>"Ah."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>For what feels like an eternity, neither of you say anything. You keep your eyes on the ceiling, ignoring your heartbeat.</p>
<p>"If you want, I could - do something," he says, and it feels like your heart stops.</p>
<p>You sit up, looking at him, and he stumbles over his words.</p>
<p>"I mean, if you want to, we don't have to! It's just - I know this shit is harder on omegas, and you've been looking at me, and I can kinda smell you--"</p>
<p>Oh god. You bring a hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose, eyes squeezing shut.</p>
<p>"I can just get out of here if you want--"</p>
<p>You move forward, catching him by the wrist to pull him closer. You're both on your knees, so it's a little awkward, but Rook immediately moves to reel you against him, his body surprisingly hard underneath the thin cotton of his tank. You suck in a breath, smelling him - strong, earthy, a heady alpha scent that works into your head like bliss, your teeth dragging at your lip.</p>
<p>He moves to lay you down, pushing his chest against yours, but you lick your lips and push him onto his back instead, kneeling between his splayed legs. He's wearing fatigue pants, you realize, and wonder what he did before he came here.</p>
<p>Maybe that's why he's so good at killing, you think absently, working his belt open. Rook sits up, heels dragging tracks through the hay as he watches you with heated eyes.</p>
<p>"You look good like that," he huffs, smiling, and you roll your eyes, yanking his pants open. "I'm serious. You're pretty when you're all flushed."</p>
<p>You flush again, pulling his cock out. He's on the thicker side, cock flushed and hardening in your hand as you stroke him, base to tip. He sighs, shudders into your touch, hips twitching up every time you roll your thumb over the tip.</p>
<p>"You're - really good at that," he mumbles, eyes closed, and you can't tell whether to feel proud or embarrassed. College with other omegas had rarely been about one person fucking another, at least in your experience. It had been quicker, more efficient to just learn to use your mouth and hands. Most omegas seemed to have the same idea.</p>
<p>He's a grower. You have a nice heft in your hand by the time you lean down and lick under the head, listening to his sweet groan, his thigh muscles flexing as he fights the urge to grab your head and shove you down. You can tell, his hands clenching and unclenching in the hay.</p>
<p>You hum over the head, pressing a kiss to the tip, and he <i>does</i> grab your head, a too-tight grip in your hair that relaxes a half-second later.</p>
<p>"Sorry, it's just--" Rook grunts, eyes hot. "S'good."</p>
<p>"Thanks," you try to say, but it comes out more like <i>haank,</i> your lips closing around him.</p>
<p>He grunts again, fingers flexing, but doesn't pull at you while you work the head, rolling your tongue around him, flicking it in his slit. <i>Mmm, that's right,</i> he says under his breath, works his hips the tiniest bit up into your mouth, sighs low and pleased when you accept him.</p>
<p>"So goddamn good," he sighs, eyes shut. You hum around him, letting him pull you down, testing how far you can go. You get three quarters of the way before your throat tightens, pulling back with added suction, tongue flat against the vein along the underside of his dick, and he <i>moans</i> for you. "Jesus <i>Christ--</i>"</p>
<p>He's fully hard now, filling your mouth and your hands pleasantly, god, he's just the perfect alpha, isn't he? Why couldn't you have met him first, not Joseph? What the hell kind of karmic debt have you been paying off the last few weeks?</p>
<p>His smell is unmistakable now, a heady scent that fills your nose and makes your mouth water around him. He lets you bob your head for a moment before taking control with a mildly authoritative grunt, breathing out in a rush when you close your eyes and slacken in his grip, giving him that power. Submitting.</p>
<p>His cock twitches in your mouth, precome on your tongue. You groan around him as he pushes your head down, back up, starting a slow but steady rhythm. You hum and groan around him, jaw building a pleasant ache as you work his cock and twist those wonderful sounds out of him, your head beautifully fuzzy with want.</p>
<p>He's aching hard by the time he pulls you off, cock leaking, a string of drool connecting it to your mouth. You're dumbfounded for a second, muzzy with need - maybe Rook can see it, or maybe he can smell it, because he grabs you by the shirt and shoves you onto your back, clambering up before you can protest.</p>
<p>He presses a hand to your chest when you squirm, a short grunt of noise in his throat cowing you. It feels natural, not terrifying, and you let him roll you onto your stomach and work your pants down your hips, ass exposed to the cool air.</p>
<p>You're already wet. He thumbs at your hole, spreading it, and then slips his index finger inside you, pumping it slow when you groan. Two now, two thick fingers worn rough after a lifetime of struggle, and you moan for him, voice rising high.</p>
<p>"God, this is hot," Rook mumbles, pressing a third in. That's enough to stretch, and your voice breaks, catches on a gasp. He slows immediately, doesn't stop, working them steadily until you've got all three fingers nestled inside you. "You're so tight."</p>
<p>"Thanks," you say, stupidly, and Rook laughs. It's a warm noise, just a little breathy, his fingers starting to pump into you in a way that has you trembling with need. God, it's <i>good,</i> pleasure twisting knots in your gut as you pitch forward, smothering your next moan into the wood. "<i>Fuck--</i>"</p>
<p>There's a hand in your hair, tugging you up, forcing your next whimper to echo against the high walls.</p>
<p>"That's better."</p>
<p>He curls his fingers, rubbing a spot that makes you keen, squeezing tight enough around his fingers to get him whistling long and low.</p>
<p>"Cute as hell."</p>
<p>"Shut up, Rook," you spit, and he does it again. And again. You're losing your mind, dragging moans only interrupted with the occasional <i>Deputy</i> or <i>Rook.</i></p>
<p>"Sorry, didn't catch that."</p>
<p>Fucker sounds smug. You try to say something, but he adds pressure and works that spot with even more pressure, until your voice cracks, your hips shoving greedily back into the pressure.</p>
<p>You're rapidly coming up on a bone-shaking orgasm, your voice gone in favor of breathless gasps, eyes unfocused on some distant point on the wall. <i>Rook Rook Rook--</i></p>
<p>Rook dips his head, mouths at your bonding spot. You wonder if it's a turn-on for him, fucking another alpha's mate.</p>
<p><i>That's</i> the thought that pushes you over the edge, crying out as you come all over the floor, Rook working you through your orgasm until you start to whimper and pull away. He gives you a second to breathe before sidling in behind you, sliding his cock between your thighs.</p>
<p>He hums against your nape, presses kisses and gentle bites along your neck. You hum pleasantly and grip your thighs together tighter, liking his grateful groan as he starts to fuck between them.</p>
<p>Neither of you are expecting the sound of the door. You're caught dead in the act by a Peggie patrol, and after a moment of shock from all of you, they take aim, plugging you both with bullets that hurt, but aren't lethal rounds. The bliss hits you hard, and you slump to the ground just as Rook does, hearing them pull out their radios and start reporting.</p>
<p>
  <i>The Father's mate has been found committing adultery with the Deputy. We'll bring them in.</i>
</p>
<p>"Fuck," you say, as the world fuzzes out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>mind the tags.</p>
<p>( also, reminder that I take commissions! hmu if you want personalized self-insert garbage with your fav fictional fuckboi/girl or if you need a ghostwriter or smth. )</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up in a bunker isn't exactly new to you. This time is a hell of a lot less pleasant than the last one, though.</p>
<p>You wake without opening your eyes immediately, less because you're sneaky and more because you're uncomfortable as hell. You're laying on concrete, your cheek numb from the cold press of it, and your body aches at every point that it comes into contact with the floor.</p>
<p>You've been here a while. When you try to move, flexing your arms, you realize that you've been tied up with coarse rope, wrists chafing behind your back when you squirm. Whoever tied you up also thought it was cute to add a rope looped around your neck, attached to your wrists, so that every movement digs into your windpipe. In fact, the way you're tied is certainly experienced. Almost suggestively so.</p>
<p>You realize soon enough that you can move, though. Your ankles are tied - it takes a moment of useless rolling around, but you eventually force yourself to a sitting position, the popping in your back just a little too loud for this dead silent place.</p>
<p>You look around your room. Definitely someone's bunker, but it couldn't be more different than Faith's Gate, a sickly red light leaking through the small window in the door. There's a bed, and a bare table, and that's it.</p>
<p>You know a cell when you see one. You also know a radio when you see one, because yours is sitting on the ground nearby. You last tuned it to Rook's, back before the two of you decided on that badly-timed tryst; it should still be on that channel. You hit the button with your knee, awkwardly.</p>
<p>"Rook?" you hiss. "Deputy? You there?"</p>
<p>"Maxwell."</p>
<p>Joseph's voice shakes you to your core. Of course Rook hadn't gotten loose, how stupid could you be?</p>
<p>"Jo--" You swallow the rest. "Joseph."</p>
<p>But he doesn't answer. He's <i>coming,</i> you can practically feel it, a dread that builds in your gut until you're desperately working your wrists raaw against the rope, inching back to set your shoulders against the side of the bed. Your ankles are bouund, but if you can get your hands free, maybe you can push up on your feet and--</p>
<p>You try. You really, honestly do. You land flat on your face and chip a tooth, groaning, running your tongue over the edge of your canine and nearly stabbing yourself on its razor sharp broken edge.</p>
<p>You can almost feel him. But you can definitely <i>smell</i> him when he's close enough, a low thrum of scent that's so much more apparent than last time, but just a little different. Muskier. Almost wet.</p>
<p>He's here, you realize, lifting your head looking up at his gut. You watch the bottom half of him as he shuts the door behind him, locks it. Removes his sunglasses.</p>
<p>"I'm not angry," he says, his voice threaded with tension that says otherwise, "but I <i>am</i> disappointed."</p>
<p>He's in rut, you realize. Probably set off by the smell of another alpha on you when they dragged you in. And now he's taking off his vest, passing you (you recoil) to drape it over the foot of the bed, starting to work the buttons of his shirt open next. You see his hands shake, just the slightest bit.</p>
<p>Jesus Christ.</p>
<p>"Shhh," he breathes, and you realize you'd said it out loud. He slips out of his shirt in a whisper of cloth, draping it as carefully as he had the first bit of his dumb preacher costume. You're already up on your ass again by the time he turns around, heat radiating off his skin as he reaches out. "Come here."</p>
<p>"Go to Hell," you spit, and your heart flutters when real anger flashes in his eyes. He reaches down and hooks you by the arm, hauling you up with surprising strength and dropping you on the bed, and you're already twisting as soon as you hit the mattress, bringing your legs up to kick at him. "Fuck you--"</p>
<p>Joseph snarls, an animal noise at sharp odds with the gentle preacher image he normally carries. You still immediately, instinctively, and it gives him just the time he needs to dig something out of his pocket. Wrapped in his fist, you can't see what it is, but--</p>
<p>You definitely feel it when he jabs it into your side. A needle. He presses the plunger down before you can stop him, and your veins flood hot with concentrated bliss oil, and… something else, you don't know what, something that makes your pulse pick up and sweat start to prickle at your nape.</p>
<p>A heat inducer.</p>
<p>The realization has you reaching up and digging your teeth into Joseph's neck, trying your absolute best to tear it out - he growls sharply, yanks you off, and you see that your broken canine has left a deep puncture in the meat of his neck. If you'd done it to the other side, you would've hit an artery, you're pretty sure.</p>
<p>His hand slams over your mouth, grips tight as he leans in. Joseph's voice is hardly above a whisper.</p>
<p>"I've been too lenient with you. That is my fault, not yours." But he's squeezing hard, eyes burning that murky blue-green. Like river water poisoned with bliss. "But you <i>will</i> learn your place, omega."</p>
<p>You try to bite his hand, but he seems to anticipate the move, reaching down to close his hand around your throat instead. Just this side of strangling you, now, your breath coming in tight gasps, the smell of you getting steadily stronger.</p>
<p>Joseph breathes in deep, shuts his eyes. When he opens them again, he leans down and tears the shoulder of your shirt low, digs his teeth into your bonding spot again, and again, and again. They all hurt, but your body thrills at it, high whines escaping you in a way that would have you burning with shame any other time.</p>
<p>You can't breathe. Even the gasps you do get in burn in your chest, and when he cuts the rope around your ankles (when did he get a knife?) your legs spread automatically, knees squeezing at his sides when he slides between them.</p>
<p>You've always taken suppressants, routinely, a thoroughly shitty week every six months that you spend sequestered in a cabin on property your family owns a ways from just about anywhere, so they can pretend you and your <i>omega issues</i> don't exist. Haven't had a full heat since your teens.</p>
<p>You remember now why you dealt with the suppressants. When he lets go of your throat, you feel the imprint of his hand still on your skin, <i>burning</i> for more. The way you arch up when Joseph pulls back, chasing the contact without meaning to. If he weren't here, you could resist the temptation of seeking out an alpha, but he smells incredible, and he's right <i>there,</i> and--</p>
<p>He takes you by the face, your cheeks in his hands, and deliberately rubs his cheek over yours. Over your neck, your throat, both sides, and you realize faintly he's trying to wash away any trace of Rook's scent he might've put on you.</p>
<p>As fucking high as you are right now, it's almost funny. Not really, but it's as close as anything gets to funny around here anymore.</p>
<p>A tug. He's worked the knife between you now, you realize, sitting up to tug it through the material of your shirt. You watch him cut it off you, the shreds dangling loosely from your shoulders as he leans down.</p>
<p>"Listen, lll-isten, <i>Jo</i>seph, you don't hah--" It dissolves into an <i>ahh</i> as he presses his teeth into your skin, working your collarbone just as thoroughly as he'd marked up your throat. You arch up into his mouth with a hiss, your voice going unsteady as he presses your hips together. "Don't have to do this - plea--<i>ease,</i> don't do this--"</p>
<p>"And allow my mate to continue a life of sin? <i>My</i> omega, on his back for the destroyer in my garden?"</p>
<p>The next bites are sharper, meant to be painful. Your voice drags out of you in a moan, and he pauses. Rubs his hand down the center of your chest, down, palms you through your pants. You try not to hitch your hips up into the contact, you really do.</p>
<p>"I see how the Deputy found himself tempted."</p>
<p>Your mouth is dry. Been so long since you've gone through a heat, of course the person you break that dry spell with is - this fucking whackjob, with his piercing eyes, and his solid build, and the weight you feel against your thigh when he presses your hips together--</p>
<p>You gasp, legs spreading instinctively, a tremble building in your limbs at the aching fucking <i>need.</i> You're burning up from the inside, easy enough for Joseph to maneuver - he gets his hands underneath you and cuts the rope connecting your neck to your wrists, and you relax just the littlest bit.</p>
<p>"Better?"</p>
<p>"If you <i>get off of me,</i>" you pant.</p>
<p>Joseph tuts, shakes his head. In a blur of movement he's forcibly rolled you onto your stomach, and you groan at the change in position. Face down, up on your knees, it's--</p>
<p>"Beautiful," Joseph hisses, his usual wordiness blissfully gone for now. How long <i>has</i> it been for him, really? How long has he been like <i>this?</i> "Ready and waiting for me. The Deputy didn't quite get the chance, did he? Another act of God."</p>
<p>When the cool air hits your ass, you're beyond the point of coherence. You know what's coming, but it feels like every cell of your fucking <i>body</i> does too, an almost unbearable ache building low in your gut. He doesn't need the ropes anymore and he knows it.</p>
<p>Were he in his right mind, you're sure he would drag this out longer. Now, though, he just lines himself up and presses in, a slow hot push of sensation that leaves you panting in the sheets. It feels--</p>
<p>It feels <i>right,</i> and you squirm underneath him, squeezing tighter around his length in a way that has him panting, his hand on your nape to shove you back down as he bears down on you. He doesn't stop until he's seated in you, your hips flush, a low choked noise slipping out of you. You're not sure if it's a grateful sigh or a sob.</p>
<p>It's <i>good.</i> God, you'd never thought in your wildest dreams that hooking up with an alpha would feel like this, white fire crawling up your spine, a tremble building in your limbs, your numb fingers turning the sheets to knots. Suddenly, the point where your bodies meet is all you can think about, the friction that sets your teeth on edge with every shift of his hips. It's all encompassing.</p>
<p>Terrifying. You understand now, quite clearly, how the omegas of old could get used to whatever alpha they were handed off to.</p>
<p>Joseph gives you more than enough time to come to grips with the feeling, smothering a groan into your shoulder.</p>
<p>"God, you feel--" he stops, unable to come up with the words (for once). He worries a new mark on your neck with his teeth. "Incredible. You are everything I was promised. Everything I've waited for."</p>
<p>"<i>Joseph,</i>" you whine, pressing your hips back to his, and he shushes you. Presses dry lips to you temple as he inches back, until he's barely in you at all, and slams home. You wail at the first rock of sensation, because <i>god</i> it feels - it just feels so--</p>
<p>"Joseph, please, fuck, Joseph, <i>Joseph--</i>"</p>
<p>His name is all you can come up with as he picks up a pace, firm and quick, too impatient himself to draw this out. You <i>beg</i> for him, you're vaguely aware of that; Joseph leans down and listens to your babbling for a moment, your tone jumping every time he fucks into you.</p>
<p>It's good. You say as much, you think, you're not sure; everything coming out of your mouth is near unintelligible right now, mindless, unfiltered; he wraps an arm around your neck and pins you against him, murmuring low praise into your ear. How good you feel. How incredible you look like this, gasping underneath him.</p>
<p>"This has happened by the grace of God," he murmurs in your ear, tracing the shell with his tongue, and then his teeth. You shudder into it, working yourself back on his cock in a way that has him hissing his next breath, pulling you tighter against him. "My father said I was too weak for my own omega. Too soft. We've proven him wrong, haven't we?"</p>
<p>You don't notice the shift until it's too late to stop him. Joseph pulls out of you (and you fucking <i>whine</i>, how embarrassing is that), shifts onto his side and hauls you back against him again, a hand on your thigh to urge your leg higher.</p>
<p>The position is far more comfortable than being crushed under his weight. He seats himself in you again in one fluid push, and the angle is - <i>new,</i> has you twisting at your bound wrists with the urge to grab the arm wrapped around your neck, to tear at the sheets, to do <i>anything.</i></p>
<p>It feels so good.</p>
<p>"And when we cross the threshold into Eden, it will be with new purpose." He presses a hand to your stomach. "We will fill our garden."</p>
<p>You're too dazed to really think about what he's saying. Sounds like more alpha bullshit, honestly, but his voice is soft and trembling like he means every word, soft pants slipping between the syllables. Like this, he can press all the kisses he wants to your nape, your neck, your shoulder; soon enough he's sucking dark bruises into your skin with the sort of vicious intensity you hadn't expected from him.</p>
<p>But it feels good. And does anything else matter right now, really?</p>
<p>Joseph fills you with every thrust now, hard and heavy and rough and <i>fucking perfect</i> and you can't think of anything else besides pinning your leg higher, squeezing tigher around him. Joseph understands what you want, pushing you back onto your stomach and settling behind you, fucking into you with a push that pins you to the mattress under his weight.</p>
<p>It feels right. God, to think on what you were missing out on in college.</p>
<p>Joseph shifts his hips just right, shifts his angle <i>just right,</i> and fuck if you don't see stars. Every roll of his hips has you near sobbing, it feels so incredible, you're so fucking <i>close--</i></p>
<p>"Are you?" Joseph asks, breathless, and you realize you must have been babbling. You don't have time to think on it, though, because soon his hand is sliding to wrap around your cock, steady tugging that has you arching back into him with a cry. "Then come."</p>
<p>You do, with a shriek, spilling over his knuckles and muffling your noise with a mouthful of sheets, your wet little sounds as you twitch and tense, riding out an orgasm that doesn't want to quit.</p>
<p>Joseph is nice enough to wait until you're slack in his grip to start his thrusts again.</p>
<p>"Jo--" you start, a yelp, but soon the messy hand on your cock is pressing flat over your mouth instead. "Nnn--"</p>
<p>"This is your punishment," Joseph purrs in your ear, low and silky and quietly spiteful. "For your sins with the Deputy. You will take me until I'm satisfied, Maxwell."</p>
<p>Of course. Of course this wasn't just a nice fuck. You're oversensitive, head shaking fiercely from side to side as he picks up his pace, and it's - too much, it almost <i>hurts,</i> and you're whining into his hand soon enough, twitching and tensing at every roll of his hips.</p>
<p>It's too much. At first, you think Joseph takes pity on you, because he stops. It's only long enough to flip you onto your back, and then he's pressing himself into you balls deep again, fingers digging bruises into your thighs - fuck, stupid you, thinking he'd show <i>mercy.</i></p>
<p>Maybe he can hear your thoughts. Maybe God whispered something in his ear. Either way, he wraps a hand around your limp cock, working it in his palm, and you <i>shriek,</i> wrists rubbing raw where the rope digs into them. <i>No, stop, too much, Joseph please--</i></p>
<p>"Did you think I would only let you come once?" he says, low and steady, fucking <i>calculating.</i> This is punishment. He wants you to know that. "You'll finish as many times as I want you to."</p>
<p>He slams his hips into you, and you cry out again, too sharp, too desperate. Stop. It hurts. It's too much. <i>Please,</i> Joseph. You say everything you can think of and then some, on the verge of tears, but--</p>
<p>His cock grinds up against you in the right way, and you see fucking stars.</p>
<p>"<i>There,</i>" you sob, and Joseph obliges, sets both his hands on your hips and hammers into you, into that spot, until you're certain the whole fucking <i>bunker</i> can hear you screaming. "<i>Joseph--</i>"</p>
<p>"I have you," he says in your ear, breathless, his grip on you almost bruising. He's close too, you can see it in the half-lidded look in his eyes, the way his mouth hangs just the slightest bit open when he--</p>
<p>When he leans down to kiss you. He stops for that moment, hips stilling as he presses in deep, kisses you deep. You part your lips for him tentatively, but he's - a surprisingly gentle kisser. Sweet, even. Joseph kisses your lips and hums when you open up for him. He's a slow kisser, deep, the kind that makes your head spin.</p>
<p>"I have you," he says against your lips, breathless.</p>
<p>"I know," you reply.</p>
<p>You're close. He's close too, you can tell, and now you hitch your legs around his hips and pull him closer, urge him on. His hand starts to work your cock again, and this time it's - still sharp, still too much, but not <i>too</i> too much. You're leaking, you realize idly, cock wet in his grip.</p>
<p>"You're close," Joseph says in your ear, and you nod tightly, biting down on your lip. "Then we'll finish together."</p>
<p>You're so <i>fucking</i> close. Joseph angles his hips right until he hits you <i>just right,</i> and you're gasping wildly around his thrusts, heels digging into the small of his back. You're babbling again, you vaguely realize. <i>Joseph please, fuck me, I need it, Joseph <b>please</b>--</i></p>
<p>"Who do you belong to?" Joseph says, low and soft in your ear. It's an alpha game you know you shouldn't play. "Who is your alpha?"</p>
<p>"<i>You,</i> you, you, you--"</p>
<p>It's enough to push him over the edge. Joseph's thrusts go erratic, harder; you tense your legs around him and arch into it, your thighs quivering, your breath coming in steady pants.</p>
<p>He has the decency to wrap his hand around you again, and that's all you need. You come, again, and it's so much more intense this time, white hot pleasure that chokes a scream out of you, spilling over Joseph's knuckles with his name on your lips.</p>
<p>You whimper at the feeling of his knot. Didn't think you'd get away from this without being properly knotted, though, so you try to bathe in the afterglow instead, shivering up against his sweat-damp skin. He reaches down to hook his thumb in the rope holding your wrists, working the knot loose - it lets you wrap your arms around his neck and roll onto your side, panting through the odd, intimate sensation of being <i>filled.</i></p>
<p>"We will have such beautiful children," Joseph murmurs in your ear, and you laugh.</p>
<p>"My parents had me sterilized," you tell him, just the littlest bit smug, and watch his face fall. "I'm not giving you any kids."</p>
<p>If it were anyone else, if the topic were <i>anything</i> else, you might feel a pang of sympathy for how crestfallen Joseph looks. Now, though, you just glance away when he palms your stomach again, like staring at it is going to fix it.</p>
<p>"I see." His touch is featherlight. "We must be grateful for the gifts we are given, even if it isn't what we had planned. I still have my mate."</p>
<p>He leans down for another kiss. You turn your head, and he busies himself with your jaw instead.</p>
<p>"Are you thinking about the Deputy?" You hadn't been, actually, but it's nice to know that even prophets get jealous. Joseph reaches down by the floor, picks something up and pushes it into your hands. Your radio? "You can talk to him, if you like."</p>
<p>The button is taped down. It takes you a moment to realize you're still on Rook's channel, and the realization hits you like ice.</p>
<p>"You--" You snatch for the radio. "<i>Rook?</i> Oh god--"</p>
<p>All of this was planned. All of this, just to show Rook exactly who you belong to.</p>
<p>"My my," John says from the other end of the radio, "quite a show, Maxwell. Don't worry, the Deputy was here for every sweet little sound."</p>
<p>Oh Christ.</p>
<p>You drop the radio. Joseph is expecting resistance, maybe, but probably not the solid punch in the eye - his head whips around for just a second before he's got a hand on your throat, squeezing until you see spots. Joseph picks up the radio, thumbs the button.</p>
<p>"As you were, John."</p>
<p>"Thank you, Joseph," John chirps. "Do you hear that, Deputy? It looks like we can move on to your Confession."</p>
<p>You claw Joseph's wrist less because it's going to do anything and more just for the chance to hurt him. <i>God,</i> you want to hurt him. Could kill him, you think, if you had the tools.</p>
<p>"Such wrath," he says, studying your reaction. You hate him all the more for it. "Boundaries need to be drawn, Maxwell. The Deputy needs to know that <i>you</i> aren't like the rest of them."</p>
<p>His hands move from your throat to your face, gripping your cheeks. His voice is low, soft.</p>
<p>"You're not one of the people he thinks he's saving. You're not." There's a quaver to his voice now, practically shaking with the intensity of what he's saying. He won't stop staring at you. "You were <i>meant</i> to be here, at my side. I won't let him ruin that."</p>
<p>You say nothing. What is there to say, really? Your drug-induced heat is bleeding out of you now, leaving you boneless, your limbs like solid concrete as Joseph pulls out. You make a slight noise of unhappiness when he spreads you, looks at where his cum is leaking out of you.</p>
<p>You've got your eyes shut. That's your first mistake.</p>
<p>There's a sharp jab in your arm, and you open your eyes to see him retreat with an identical needle to before. There's fire in his eyes, and when you try to bolt - clumsily, still punch-drunk - he pins you down by the neck, holds you there.</p>
<p>"I told you this was a punishment."</p>
<p>Again. Your blood is prickling hot in your veins again, your worn body stirring despite yourself, sinking into the bliss haze. Joseph leans down, shushes your panicked noises with a press of his lips.</p>
<p>"If you can't give me children," he says, already bearing down on you again, "then you can give me this."</p>
<p>"<i>Rook,</i>" you murmur, throwing a glance at the discarded radio, and Joseph's grip tightens.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's days before he finally lets you climb out of a drugged haze. And that's only because you're being so <i>good.</i></p><p>For that first week (you think it's a week), Joseph rarely leaves. He still has to, of course, there are still people to talk nonsense cult shit to, but it's never for more than a few hours - you learn to enjoy the time he's gone, shivering naked in your bed, because it's the most peace you're allowed.</p><p>He's a crushing presence when he's here. Always close, always touching, always <i>talking,</i> either whispering sweet nothings or murmuring about the future, about God, about a million other completely pointless things you try to phase out when you have to listen to him.</p><p>You never knew to miss anything in Faith's bunker. Even the lack of sunlight never bothered you there. Now the deprivation seems so much worse with concrete floors and dead metal walls, and Joseph, always Joseph, either talking or resting or fucking you or just fucking <i>staring,</i> the way he does sometimes.</p><p>But once the drugs stop - he says you need them to acclimate your body to your heats again, but you think he's probably full of shit - he visits maybe once, twice, then disappears. For days, you're sure, because food comes three times a day, that's how you count the passage of time.</p><p>You never knew how long a day was until you had to spent one completely alone.</p><p>In time, you start to talk to yourself to fill the silence. Stories, old memories, parts of books, songs - whatever you can recall, just to hear the sound of a voice. The bearded man who delivers your food won't say a word to you, won't even look at you. Just shoves your food at you and leaves.</p><p>That's where they make a mistake. They give you meat, a hunk of beef with the bone still in it. You take that bone, break it in half on the concrete floor. By the time you finish your shiv, it's nothing but a deadly sliver of bone.</p><p>You're sure as fuck not spending the rest of your life down here as the prophet's cumdump. So when the bearded man comes to take your bowl, you ignore him until he comes in, carefully averting his eyes from your naked body.</p><p>You've never killed anyone before. There's more force needed to bury the shiv in the man's neck than you would've thought, because it sticks about halfway as he gasps, fishlike, eyes bulging - you've never killed anyone before, but there's less sickening fear than you would've thought as you take the man to the ground and twist the knife off in his neck.</p><p>Not fear. Not really. Just a rush of adrenaline.</p><p>You don't have long, you think. Just enough time to throw the dead man's clothes on, swaddling yourself in his scent. There's blood on the shoulder of his scratchy Peggie sweater, you can't really help that, but maybe no one will notice - it's not an awful lot.</p><p>You should feel worse, you think, studying the man's cooling body. But you don't.</p><p>You have the man's sidearm at your hip when you leave the room, picking up on what's been making the same dull, rhythmic sound for the past for-fucking-ever: it's John Seed's voice playing over the intercom, spilling all his bullshit about <i>sins</i> and <i>confession.</i> You pull a face, carefully sidling past a few Peggies that nod to you in passing.</p><p>You're going to get out of here. But first, you have to find Rook.</p><p>He's saved you, so it's only fair you do the same for him. But the last place you know he was at was with John, and if it's down here, then that means he's probably...</p><p>Probably in the confession room. Shit.</p><p>You pull a Peggie woman aside, spilling a story about a message from the Father, to be delivered to John. She seems skeptical, somehow, but points you down a hallway and gives you rough directions that lead you to a room with sickly orange-y yellow lights pouring down through metal grating.</p><p>You don't see Rook. You do see a woman, though, dark hair still pulled back in a messy braid, eyes glossy and wet. She starts to scream behind her gag when she sees you, but you shush her, throwing a harried look back.</p><p>"I'm not with them," you tell her, creeping up to her side. She doesn't seem to trust you, at least not until you start working at the ropes tying her wrists behind her chair. "I promise, I'm not. We need to move fast, I don't know when John is coming back, but we - I'll find you some clothes and we'll leave. They won't even know."</p><p>You work the gag down around her neck. The red marks on her cheeks tell you it's been in place for a while.</p><p>"Who are you?" she asks, her voice cracking, low. "John, he was here, and he - he had Rook, he--"</p><p>"Rook?" You stop, wheeling her chair around. "Where is he? I came down here because--"</p><p>"<i>Because</i> you couldn't stay in your room like a good little omega."</p><p>You freeze. The woman's already looking over your shoulder, shaking her head, <i>no no no</i> already rumbling out of her. You turn to look at John, your jaw set, and see that he's apparently ready for a torture session. He sets his toolbox on the table to your left, tutting, eyes never leaving you.</p><p>"Look at you, making friends with Deputy Hudson." He lifts a finger, stepping forward. You step back in turn. "We were <i>just</i> getting ready for our next session, weren't we, Deputy? I can't help thinking this might just be better."</p><p>Your hand drops tO your gun. John's eyebrows go up as he whistles, long and low.</p><p>"And here I thought omegas were bred <i>submissive.</i> You're certainly a fighter, aren't you?"</p><p>"Shut the fuck up, John." You point the gun at him, your hand finding Hudson's shoulder. "We're leaving."</p><p>"Look at you, playing hero. The Deputy would be proud of his little <i>whore.</i>" You flinch at the tone, but step around Hudson's side, putting yourself between the two of them. Maybe it does feel good, being the hero; maybe you like this. "If only he were still here."</p><p>You must look confused, the gun drooping. John just smiles.</p><p>"He <i>left</i> the two of you here over a week ago."</p><p>No, that's--</p><p>"He wouldn't," you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears. "He's--"</p><p>"Not coming back," John finishes, stepping closer. You level the gun at him again, but the barrel is shaking now, unsteady. If you shoot him, Peggies will come. If you kill him, they'll kill you, or Hudson, or both of you, or they'll wait for--</p><p>"Should I call Joseph?" John says, and you shrink. "I wonder what he would think about his mate running around, looking for his backup alpha?"</p><p>Joseph would be furious. You've never seen him <i>properly</i> angry, but you get the feeling it's an absolute terror to behold, and you - John is going to tattle on you anyway, you're sure of it, but you have a stake here in whether or not you want to make this worse.</p><p>You're not escaping. Shouldn't ever have come down here for someone who abandoned you <i>and</i> one of his own people.</p><p>John takes the gun from you - Hudson is shouting at your back, wants to know what the fuck you're doing, <i>stop.</i> It doesn't matter, neither of you are getting out of here.</p><p>"Stay right there," John says, and heads over to the door, calling in a couple Peggies. "After all, Confessions are <i>private.</i>"</p><p>You start to head for the door, but John stops you with a hand on your shoulder. Looks at you, smiling.</p><p>And smashes his forehead into the bridge of your nose. Your fall is weightless, hands flying to your busted face to grasp at your nose, blood seeping between your fingers - Hudson is screaming, you realize distantly, as one of the Peggies wheels her past your crumpled form.</p><p>This isn't her Confession, you realize. It's yours.</p><p>You lunge for John, your will to fight renewed, and manage to drag him down to the ground - he bangs his head on the floor with a curse just before the Peggie manages to drag you off.</p><p>John cusses, uses the table to stand again. "Put the boot to him."</p><p>The Peggie drops you on the ground just in time to bury his steel-toed boot in your ribs. You wheeze, trying to crawl away, but John sets a foot on your forehead and shoves you back into another flurry of short, hard kicks to the body. A proper beating. Your <i>first</i> proper beating, which is kind of miraculous, considering where you are.</p><p>You suppose this is how you're treated when you aren't safe under Joseph's wing. It's better, in a way.</p><p>At some point, you vomit. Can't help yourself when the fucker keeps burying his boot in your gut like that. John crows in exaggerated disgust as you're sick all over his floor.</p><p>"Christ. Get him in the chair."</p><p>You're not hard to maneuver after a beating like that. The Peggie dumps you in the chair, then makes quick work of tying your wrists to the arm rests.</p><p>"Good." John runs his fingers through your hair, wipes your mouth on your shirt, like he wants this to be perfect. He gives the Peggie a dismissive little wave. "Now get out. There's a Confession to be had."</p><p>You're quiet while the man leaves. John whistles, stepping around your mess on the floor to get to his toolbox again.</p><p>"You know," he begins, pulling out a long straight blade, "I've wanted to do this for a long, <i>long</i> time."</p><p>"I'm sure," you mumble, still punch-drunk from that sound beating. "Seems like all you Seeds do is think about me."</p><p>John smiles, mirthlessly. Comes closer with something small and metallic in hand.</p><p>"Honestly, I don't know what he sees in you." He sets the object aside - a tattoo gun - and tears your stolen shirt open, until you're nearly bare from the waist up. "So much fuss, so much <i>effort</i> wasted on one <i>unremarkable</i> omega. I wonder if it's that fighting spirit he likes so much?"</p><p>John runs his hand over your chest. Thumbs over the bite marks, the teeth-shaped bruises staining your skin. You pointedly look to the side.</p><p>"But you must be worth something to earn this… attention."</p><p>The tattoo gun buzzes to life. You finally have the wherewithal to flex against your bonds, leaning bodily back into the chair when he comes close.</p><p>"I wonder which of your sins comes first." He tuts, mock friendly. "You've got <i>so many</i> to choose from."</p><p>"How about you ask your fucking mother," you spit, and John flashes that slick smile again. Not entirely joyless this time, you realize. He wanted this fight.</p><p>"<i>Wrath.</i> Excellent choice."</p><p>He sets the tip of the gun just over your ribs, carving out the W in hard, deep strokes that leave you turning your lip raw under your teeth. It hurts, god, stings in the worst way possible, the needle digging heedlessly over the thin, sensitive skin over your ribs, grinding into bone.</p><p>You do, however, pride yourself on not making noise, sitting still for him. The only thing worse than a tattoo you don't want is a fucked up tattoo you don't want and a secondary, equally painful redo somewhere else.</p><p>W. R. A.</p><p>"You're taking this well," John hums, carving the T. "If I didn't know how hard I was pushing down, I'd say you don't feel this at all."</p><p>"I'm sure you get that a lot."</p><p>T T T T T. He's very forceful on that fucking T, and this time you <i>do</i> groan, tensing in your seat.</p><p>"Almost done," John says, nearly sing-song, and lines out the H. When he pulls back, you glance down to see WRATH written in thick, angry letters over your ribs. "Taking this like a trooper, aren't we? What sin should we carve into you next?"</p><p>Oh god, there's more? Your expression must say as much when you open your eyes and look at him, because he grins, pushes the remains of your shirt further back on your shoulders.</p><p>"<i>Lust,</i>" John breathes, settling a knee on the chair between your thighs. You squirm away from him instinctively, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head to the side, exposing a stretch of neck that Joseph didn't see fit to mark up. "And we all know what a <i>lustful</i> little creature you are, don't we? Your Deputy heard as much last week. You should've seen his face."</p><p>Your face is hot. Even hotter as John palms over your skin, close enough to smell the blood and aftershave clinging to him, his breath on your neck where he's sizing up your next tattoo.</p><p>The thing is, he's good looking, and you hate it.</p><p>"Something wrong, Maxwell?" John purrs into your ear, and you shake your head. He tuts, pressing the needle to your neck. "Don't move. It's supposed to say <i>lust,</i> not <i>slut</i>. Although it's really just one or the other with you, isn't it?"</p><p>Fucker. You grit your teeth as he goes to work on your neck, and this time, neither of you say anything until he's done carving the letters into your skin. You can't see them, but you can sure as hell feel the sting from each letter.</p><p>"How's it look?" you quip, weak, and John gives the word on your ribs a hearty, open-palmed smack. You yell this time, jumping in your seat.</p><p>"Well, it is <i>my</i> handiwork." John leans against the table, setting his tattoo gun aside. "Did you expect anything less?"</p><p>"Yes, actually."</p><p>John hums at that. Walks back to the table across the room, picks up a knife, and fuck, oh <i>fuck</i> oh fuck.</p><p>"Do you know what the definition of <i>confession</i> is, Maxwell?" He thumbs the tip of the blade, testing its sharpness. "<i>A formal statement admitting that one is guilty of a crime.</i> An admission of truth. And the sooner you admit the <i>truth,</i> well... the sooner you'll be free."</p><p>"Joseph wouldn't let you set me loose."</p><p>"Free from your <i>sins,</i> Maxwell." John huffs a little laugh, looking at you in a way that could only be described as <i>you poor bastard.</i> "I think we both know that you're going to spend the rest of your miserable omega existence wherever Joseph wants you. Which, from the smell of you, is underneath him."</p><p>You sneer at him, watching with no small amount of panic as he makes his way back to you, knife in hand. His eyes are bright, his smile too genuine.</p><p>"You may be under Joseph's protection, but that doesn't mean I can't still <i>cut the sin</i> out of you." His voice is so soft, almost gentle, undoubtedly intimate as he murmurs in your ear. "And when I've pulled out every evil thing in you, when your <i>soul</i> is just one aching wound… we'll see how worthy of Joseph's time you really are."</p><p>John presses the tip of the blade over the W in WRATH.</p><p>"Now, let's get started."</p><p>---</p><p>When they lead you back to your room, push you inside, you could cry with relief.</p><p>It's been so long. So long in John's chair, bleeding and screaming, spilling out every one of your wrongdoings, real or otherwise. They practically had to carry you in here, your legs are so flimsy underneath you; everything is a haze of pain and the dull ache of healing bruises every time you breathe in.</p><p>You're missing teeth. Missing fingernails. Missing the patch of skin where WRATH used to be, because even if he couldn't take the sin out of you completely, he was at least satisfied in having broken your fighting spirit by the time it was all through.</p><p>It's alright, though. You've still got LUST, with the addition of GREED and SLOTH on your stomach and hip, respectively. He's promised to take all of those from you too, in time. It just takes time.</p><p>You lay down on the side that isn't wrapped in bandages, falling into a thick, suffocating sleep. The kind that won't let you go. The next three trays of food they leave you go ignored, because as soon as you wake up, groggy and in pain, you immediately want to go back to the relief of sleep.</p><p>Every time you wake up, you come to grips with the pain, and the blank walls, and the silence, and the fact that no one is coming to save you. And you go back to sleep.</p><p>Even when you feel fingers through your hair, you resist. Sleep is so much more peaceful.</p><p>Eventually, though, you realize the touch isn't a dream when those fingers brush over your too-warm cheek. You're sweating, you realize, too hot in your threadbare Peggie trousers a size too large, eyes coming open with a sort of hot stickiness that tells you you're sick.</p><p>Joseph presses the back of his hand to your forehead. It feels good, his hands are cool, and when those fingers push through your hair again, you sigh and press your cheek to his thigh where he's sitting on your bed.</p><p>You think you hear the softest little intake of breath. Maybe. It's so hard to tell what's actually going on and what's just in your feverish thoughts.</p><p>"Roll over," Joseph says, helping you roll onto your uninjured side. The bandaging job was sloppy, done by some random Peggie who didn't seem to know what he was doing. The whole area is hot, though, tender under Joseph's touch. "John was sloppy."</p><p>"Don't send me back," you say, small and pleading. "I can't--"</p><p>"Your Atonement can wait. Lay down." He pushes your head to the pillow again, gentle as anything, and you relax gratefully. Pull closer to him again, your head on his leg, his fingers carding through your hair. "Do you understand now? That there are consequences to your actions?"</p><p>"Don't send me back," you say again, mindless.</p><p>"You will go back. All of my children must reach Atonement. My mate is not exempt." You whine, pull away from him. He gathers you up too easily, tugs you back into your earlier spot. "But you've had enough of John for now."</p><p>"Don't leave," you say, and it stuns both of you into silence. You don't--</p><p>You don't want him to go. Don't want to be alone again, left with the sickness and the pain and the silence. And maybe - he makes it sound like if you're good, you might--</p><p>The thoughts are a disordered jumble in your head. After a moment you spend honestly thinking he's going to get up and leave, he pushes you aside and settles into the too-small bed beside you. Like this, you're essentially forced to curl up against his side - it's not a position he seems to mind all that much, an arm draping around your shoulders to keep you close.</p><p>Did he always smell so good? You only remember the whisper of skin and a faint musk before. Now something about him smells like <i>home,</i> like safety, warm and soft and just a little intoxicating. You press your face to his shirt and breathe him in, and you hear the slightest rumble in his chest, an approving hum.</p><p>You shouldn't be tired. Shouldn't want to sleep at all after all the rest you've gotten.</p><p>But the moment Joseph sits up, moves you over carefully, so that you're on the other side of him while still laying off of your injured side - when he presses your back to his chest and his lips to your nape, warm breath rolling down your spine, you relax bonelessly into him.</p><p>For a second, you imagine this is anywhere else. Anyone else. But you can't really imagine anybody doing this but him, can you?</p><p>When you wake up (when did you fall asleep?), he's gone. He's left fresh food and pills for you, though, and you swallow both gratefully. You're starving, for one, and two, if he wants you to take these pills, he's damn well going to get you to take them one way or another. Might as well do it the easy way.</p><p>You sleep, and the routine repeats itself a few times. Sleep, wake up, eat, take pills, awkward march to the bathroom with an armed guard at your back, changed bandages, back to sleep. Days have to pass like that, although it hardly feels like that to you.</p><p>When Joseph visits you again, you're feeling better. You almost greet him before you see John at his heels and recoil.</p><p>"Get him the hell away from me--"</p><p>"Oh, don't be <i>precious,</i>" John sneers, but a single look from Joseph is enough to cow him. He ducks his eyes, walks over to you, shoves your arm out of the way to look at your side. You pull away immediately. "Sit still, dammit."</p><p>"Maxwell."</p><p>Joseph's voice is enough to cow you. And anyway, it doesn't look like John is on a mission to hurt here, stripping off the bandages to look at the meaty mass of scar tissue where your wrath used to be.</p><p>"I didn't think I had to hold my men's hands when it came to dressing wounds--"</p><p>"Did you even look, John?"</p><p>John says nothing, pulls away from you. He's got something in hand, you realize, it's - medical supplies? Bandages. The infection has gone down but apparently, you still need someone to tend to it, and that someone is going to be John Seed tonight.</p><p>You're pointedly staring at the wall as John sprays the wound down with antiseptic. It doesn't burn anymore.</p><p>"I'm sorry," John says, apropos of nothing, and you're shocked enough to actually look at him. He's saying it as resentfully as possible, you can tell, but - well. Joseph is still making him say it. "I should have been more… attentive."</p><p>"You were <i>attentive</i> enough," you snap, but still at Joseph's look. <i>Not now,</i> it seems to say, and you huff, glancing at the wall instead. John isn't the best at dressing wounds, but he isn't altogether bad at it, either - in any case, he's nowhere near as bad as the first Peggie that patched you up.</p><p>Joseph is staring at you. You know what he wants.</p><p>"Thank you, John," you say, hollowly, and John fakes a smile, already standing from your side. He goes to meet Joseph again, who bumps their foreheads together, eyes closing.</p><p>"Thank you, John. Leave us, please."</p><p>"Yes, Joseph."</p><p>John gives you one last lingering look before he leaves. Then it's just the two of you, and Joseph opens his arms, waiting.</p><p>You stand, tired despite yourself, and cross the room to meet him. He wraps a hand around the back of your head and pulls you against him.</p><p>As soon as you smell him, you relax into his arms by degrees. But only by degrees.</p><p>"How are you feeling?"</p><p>"Better."</p><p>"Good." He touches LUST at your neck, thumbs over the ink. "I see John has been busy."</p><p>Your breath flutters in your chest at the reminder of that dark room, the steel burn of a tattoo needle. He shushes you, as if hearing your panic.</p><p>"You're safe here," he says, a distant echo of his words… how long ago? A month, <i>maybe?</i> How long has the world been ending in Hope county?</p><p>You're so tired. And he's so warm.</p><p>His head dips, mouth at your ear, at your jaw, murmuring warm things you don't bother to keep track of. (They're more comforting when you don't listen too closely.) You sigh, and tilt your head, teeth scraping over his pulse before his mouth meets yours.</p><p>You're just so tired.</p><p>Joseph is a tender kisser, but there's a quiet hunger to the way he demands your mouth, links his fingers in your hair and pulls steadily until you're bent back at an angle for him, sweet and open. You drag your hands over his chest, nails scratching at him through the thin fabric, and he makes some indiscernable noise against your mouth.</p><p>He's the one to break it, for once.</p><p>"You've considered your place here?" He smooths a hand down your side, cups your hip. "Here, and in Eden?"</p><p>"Yes, Joseph," you sigh, because it's what he wants to hear, and whatever he wants to hear seems to be what keeps you comfortable. "I'm here."</p><p>"And you will stay here?" he murmurs, low and heated. "You realize I only want what's best for you? That you are only kept in captivity for your own protection?"</p><p>"Yes, Joseph."</p><p>"Yes, <i>alpha,</i>" Joseph corrects, low and warm, and your next breath shudders out against his lips.</p><p>"Yes, alpha."</p><p>He kisses you again, warmer, firmer, bites at your lip until you gasp and slips into your mouth, his hands smoothing up your bare back and dragging down with nails. You gasp against his lips, arching into him, and he starts backing you up against the bed with a low noise in his throat.</p><p>It's the first time he's ever touched you outside of a bliss-and-heat haze. Some distant part of you realizes the true misery of your situation, but more and more of you is just trying to survive now that you know nobody is coming to save you.</p><p>Is all of this really that bad? Yes, absolutely. But Joseph wraps a hand around your waist and drapes you over the bed like a lover would, and you<br/>
can pretend, for a moment, that this is what you want.</p><p>Physically, at least, he's in tune to what you like, trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, teeth scraping over LUST. You start to work his shirt open, pulling at the buttons, but he gathers your wrists and pins them above your head.</p><p>"Keep them there."</p><p>You're - you think you like that, when he gives you those low orders, so you listen. You leave your arms draped over your head, watching him work his shirt open, button by button, sliding it off his shoulders and draping it over the foot of the bed. Then he leans down, lips pressed to the center of your chest, and--</p><p>Oh. He's working his way down with a trail of kisses, and you can't help but arch up into it, relishing the way he pins your hips in place. <i>Oh,</i> he's working your pants down, and he's--</p><p>His beard tickles your thighs as he drags his tongue along the underside of your cock, almost uncertain. Like he's never done this before. The thought hits you in a warm rush, and you immediately drop your hands to card through his hair, yelping when he sinks his teeth into your hip.</p><p>Right, right. Hands above your head. You lift them again, hands flexing into fists above your head, and your next breath trembles when he starts to work again, lips closing around the head of your dick, eyes shutting in serene concentration as he bobs his head, shallow.</p><p>He isn't very good. You've had better. But the fact that he's trying at all is… you don't know, you feel some way about it, thighs flexing as you try not to rut up into his mouth. It's not easy. You focus on your reactions instead, giving him the right ones, the soft <i>ahhh shit</i> and <i>mmm</i> from time to time that always seem to get him sucking just a little more enthusiastically.</p><p>It doesn't last. He's not doing this because he wants to, you realize, feeling him push your legs up, and then he's - <i>oh--</i></p><p>His tongue pushes at your hole, wet and hot, and you actually <i>whine,</i> shivering up into the attention. No one's ever done that to you, just him, and the way he licks at you, slow and thorough and firm in a way that drives you absolutely wild. Your voice picks up, whimpers and soft whines slipping out of you from time to time, and it only seems to spur him on, pressing his tongue into you in a way that makes you buck your hips against his face.</p><p>Fuck. <i>Fuck.</i></p><p>"Joseph, <i>please.</i>" It doesn't sound like your voice. Doesn't sound like your words. You whine them anyway, scratching at the sheets, twitching, and that's what seems to really set Joseph off.</p><p>He stops, drops your hips. Shoves his own pants down around his thighs and lines you up. He's balls deep in one solid greedy push, groaning softly, head hanging as he seems to soak it all in for a moment.</p><p>You link your legs around his hips, and he practically lays on you, his weight settling comfortably over yours as he starts to work his hips. Never been with him outside of the itchy, awful desperation of a heat, and this feels so much nicer in comparison, his pace lazy and comfortable as he fucks into you.</p><p>You make all sorts of nice noises for him, arms around his neck to bring him in close, hold him there. Every roll of his hips sends pleasurable jolts through you, gets you arching up against him, moaning in his ear. <i>Yes. Joseph, yes, yes. Please.</i></p><p>"So sweet," Joseph murmurs at your ear, his breath quick. "Let me hear you."</p><p>You do. At this point, you're not particularly concerned whether the Peggies can hear you moan Joseph's name in the hallway outside. He murmurs praise into your jaw, prayer; thanks God for you, for your body, breathless sound against your jaw as he fucks you senseless.</p><p>You let him hear you. You're loud, these days.</p><p>It seems like the louder you are, the more Joseph eggs it on, in his quiet way. Like he <i>likes</i> seeing you unravel, taking you apart. You know he does beyond a shadow of a doubt, because when you're close, when you're so fucking <i>close</i> you could cry, legs up, hands knotted in the sheets as you come up on an orgasm--</p><p>"Not yet."</p><p>--that Joseph won't let you have, wrapping his hand around the base of your cock and squeezing until it's painful. You yelp, but he isn't letting up on his pace, fucking rougher than he's ever been with you before. Fucking right into the spot that has you seeing stars, crying out, <i>please please please Joseph pleasepleaseplease--</i></p><p>"Not yet," he says again, leaning over you, a sheen of sweat on his skin. He bumps foreheads with you, rubs his cheek over yours, presses his lips to your throat to feel every rumble and whine you let out. "You'll finish when I say so."</p><p>Fuck. He presses his lips to your face, kisses away tears of frustration, of overstimulation - it's not enough and <i>too much</i> all at once, an unrelenting wave of sensation pushing you towards a climax you aren't allowed to have yet, if at all.</p><p>"I'm close," Joseph says against your skin, and your moan is watery, your nails dragging red lines into his arms. He's close, and you, you're so <i>fucking</i> close you could cry. "Ask for it."</p><p>"Please, Joseph," you gasp, and the sheer filth of what you say turns your face even redder than before. "Cum in me, please, I need - oh <i>fuck,</i> I need it, I - <i>Joseph!</i>"</p><p>But it's not enough. It's not what he wants to hear. He slows his strokes just the slightest bit, like he's thinking of drawing this out, and you can't think of a worse torture.</p><p>"<i>Alpha,</i>" you pant, and feel his cock twitch in you. "Please, alpha--"</p><p>Joseph's orgasm hits him quicker than he expected. He makes some whining, twisting noise in his throat as he spills into you, shaking out his climax against your body, forcing you to hold his weight while he sprawls. It isn't until he's squeezed his knot into place that he finally lifts his head, pale skin flushed cherry red all over as he works your cock slow. You keen, arching up into his hand.</p><p>"Beg," Joseph says, matter of fact. And you do.</p><p>It's humiliating, having to beg to come, but you put your fucking heart into it. You call him Joseph, Father, Alpha as his hand works you too slow, cock wet with precome in his hand. You tell him how good this is, how much you love it. You tell him you never want to leave.</p><p>You hate yourself for every word.</p><p>Finally, Joseph seems satisfied, and the torturously slow strokes pick up to something almost blindingly <i>too much</i> in comparison. You're spilling in seconds flat, your voice cracking against the walls, whole body tightening around his length in a way that has him practically going cross-eyed, squeezing his eyes shut as he shivers. It must be nice.</p><p>You wonder what it's like, to be an alpha. To <i>take</i> and never have to give back.</p><p>Joseph settles on your side, like usual, and pulls you against his chest. Presses his lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder, digs his teeth into your bonding spot to <i>remind</i> you, you think, that you belong to him.</p><p>You feel well-fucked. Tired. <i>Good,</i> laid up against him like this, his murmurs about Eden in your ear, and that's the worst part, that you're starting to like these quiet moments.</p><p>Maybe it won't be such a bad life, down here.</p><p>The thought has your eyes hot and watering, and Joseph shushes you, flutters kisses over your neck the way he knows you like.</p><p>"Shhh. I have you," he murmurs, and you don't have the heart or the will to tell him that's the problem.</p>
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